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THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

GreWe^ihngcn K.A., i^inx.

Sir il. RiDKk IIaiicard,

THE

DAYS OF MY LIFE

AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY

SIR H. RIDER HAGGARD

AUTHOR OF * KING SOLOMON'S MINES,' 'SHE,' 'RURAL ENGLAND,' ETC.

EDITED BY

C. J. LONGMAN

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS

IN TWO VOLUMES

VOLUME II

LONGMANS, GREEN AND CO. LTD.

39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON, E.C. 4
NEW YORK, TORONTO
BOMBAY, CALCUTTA AND MADRAS

1926

'Made in Great Britain, A ll rights reserved^

CONTENTS OF VOL. II

CHAPTEK

XIII. ‘Eric Brighteyes’ and ‘Nada the
Lily ’

' Eric Brighteyes ' — Dedicated to the Empress Frederick —
Correspondence with her — Lang’s letters about Eric —
Letters from R. L. S. — Poem by him — ‘Beatrice’ —
Marie Corelli — Lady Florence Dixie — Cordy jeaffreson
again — Criticism of ‘Beatrice' — * Nada the Lily ’ — ' Epic
of a dying people ’ — Last letters from Sir Theophilus
Shepstone — Dedication of ‘Nada’ to him — ‘ Vale,
Sompseu, Vale ' — Savile Club — Sir Ian Hamilton — His
experiences at Majuba — Rudyard Kipling — Sir Henry
Thompson — ‘IVlichael Fairless’ at Bungay — Sir E. W.
Budge — Flis anecdotes.

• XIV. Mexico

J. Gladwyn Jebb — His character — Mr. and Mrs. H. R. H.
visit him in Mexico — Death of their only son while they
were absent — New York on way to Mexico — Reporters
— Their loyalty to each other — Mexico City — Don
Anselmo — Golden Head of Montezuma — Treasure
hunt — St. Pango — Journey to silver mine — Chiapas —
Vera Cruz — Frontera — Millions of mosquitoes — A mule
load of silver — Attempt "bf robbers to steal it — Silver
mine — Tarantulas — ^Mishap on journey back — Return
to England.

• XV. Andrew Lang .....

Death of Andrew Lang — Recent letters from him —
Suggested further collaboration — Lecture tour in
South Africa proposed — Letter from Charles Longman
— Queen Taia's ring.

'XVI. Romance-Writing . . . .

Miss Ida Hector — H, R. H. dictates his works to her —
Wishes for change of occupation — Dream-pictures — ■
H. R. H.’s theory of Romance- writing — Literary coin-
cidences — Examples from the works of H. R. H. —
The Spectator.

PAGE

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

XVII. Politics and Town Life

H. R. H/s political views— Bred a Tory— Cross-bench
mind — Strong Imperialist — Asked to stand for King's
Lynn — Declined — Co-director of African Heview —
Undertook later to contest East Norfolk — Difficult
constituency for Conservative — Beaten by 19S voles —
Stood in the agricultural interest — Specially interested
in South African affairs — Cecil Rhodes — Retired from
African Review — Death of H. R. H,'s father — Elected
chairman of local bench — ^Major Burnham — Some of
his adventures — Major Cheyne.

XVIII. Rural England ....

H. R. H. returns to the country — Devotes himself to agri-
culture — ‘Farmer’s Year' — Arthur Young — Bradfield
Combust — Bobbin — Determines to follow Arthur
Young’s example — Agreed with Daily Express for series
of articles on Rural England — Visit to Cyprus and Holy
Land — A Winter Pilgrimage — Rural England journeys
— Heaviest labour of H. R. H.’slife — Arthur Cochrane's
help — Hundreds of interviews — Practical results dis-
appointing — Mr. R. W. Hanbury — Agyicultiiral Post
— Lord Onslow — ^Mr. Asquith.

XIX. Psychical

With eldest daughter to Egypt — Return by Italy and
Spain — Abu Simbel with Carter — Bees' nest 2000 years
old — ‘ The Way of the Spirit ' — Dedicated to Kipling
— Death of H. R. H.'s retriever Bob — Appears to
him in dream — Report published in Journal of Society
for Psychical Research — Lasting effect on H. R. H.'s
mind — ^More dream-pictures — Sir Oliver Lodge,

XX. The Roosevelt Letters .

Appointed Commissioner to report to Secretary of
State for Colonies on Salvation Army Labour Colonies
in U.S.A. — Alfred Lyttelton — H. R. H.'s daughter
Angela goes with him as secretary — Wasliington —
Mr. Hay — President Roosevelt — The White House —
Notes of interview with Roosevelt — Correspondence
with Roosevelt.

XXI. Report on Labour Colonies

Letter to Alfred Lyttelton — Interview with him —
Opportunities of Conservative Government "~How
used — ^Nature of H. R. H.'s scheme — Approved by
Earl Grey, Governor-General of Canada — Cold reception
by Government — Alfred Lyttelton a believer in it —
Referred to a Departmental Committee— The bottom
knocked out of it — Letters from Earl Grey — Letter
from Bramwell Booth.

PAGE

106

131

155

173

190

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

XXII. Royal Commission on Coast Erosion
AND Afforestation

Operation in nursing home — * Ayesha ’ — H. R. H. often
asked which he thinks best passages in liis works —
An answer to the question — Member of Royal Com-
mission on Coast Erosion — ^Lloyd George — ASoresta-
tion added to the reference — Scheme presented
to Government — Dropped — King Edward's funeral
— H. R. H. undertook report for Salvation Army —
Regeneration — General William Booth — His death —
H. R. H. wrote pamphlet for Archbishop Benson —
' Rural Denmark ' — ^The Development Board — ^Notes
of interview with Lloyd George — Knighthood con-
ferred — Offered seat on Dominions Royal Commission
— Egypt again — ' Marie ' — Dedicated to Sir Henry
Bulwer — End of chronicle of H. R. H.

XXIII. A Note on Religion . . . .

APPENDIX — Speech of Sir Rider Haggard
TO THE Members of the Canadian
Club at Ottawa, in March 1905

vii

PAGE

204

234

261

INDEX

273

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS IN VOL. II

Portrait of Sir H. Rider Haggard (1920) Frontispiece

From the painting by Maurice Greiffenhagen, R.A.

‘Vanity Fair,’ Cartoon, May 21, 1887 , Facing p. 32

Lady Haggard ,.65

From the painting by Maurice Greiffenhagen, R.A .

Andrew Lang 80

From the painting by Sir W. B. Richmond, R.A.

Mr. W. M. R. Haggard (1880) . . . „ 120

From a photograph.

Pond Garden, Ditchingham . . . . 144

From a photograph.

Rose Border, Flower Garden, Ditchingham ,, 208

From a photograph.

THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

CHAPTER XIII

‘ ERIC BRIGHTEYES ’ AND ' NADA THE LILY '

* Eric Brighteyes * — Dedicated to the Empress Frederick — Correspondence with
her — Lang's letters about Eric — Letters from R. L. S. — Poem by him —

' Beatrice ' — Marie Corelli — Lady Florence Dixie — Cordy J eaffreson again
— Criticism of ' Beatrice ’ — ‘ Nada the Lily ' — ‘ Epic of a dying people ' —
Last letters from Sir Theophilus Shepstone — Dedication of *Nada' to
him — Vale, Sompseu, Vale — Savile Club — Sir Ian Hamilton — His ex ■
periences at Majuba — Rudyard Kipling — Sir Henry Thompson — Michael
Fairless at Bungay — Sir E. W. Budge — His anecdotes.

I BEGAN to write ' Eric Brighteyes,’ the saga which was
the result of my visit to Iceland, on August 29, 1888,
as the manuscript shows, and I finished it on Christmas
Day, 1888. It was dedicated to the late Empress
Frederick, under the circumstances which are shown
in the following correspondence.

My brother William wrote to me from the British
Embassy at Athens, where I think he was First
Secretary at the time, on October 30, 1889 •

It may interest you to hear that the Empress Frederick
told me the other night that the last pleasure that her husband
had on earth was reading your books, which he continued to
do through his last days, and that he used to express the hope
that he might live to make your acquaintance. I replied that
I knew the pleasure that it would give you to know you had
soothed the dying moments of such a man, whereupon she

VOL. II. B

THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

begged me to write and tell you. She was very much affected
in speaking of this and of her husband, and I had subsequently
a very interesting conversation with her about him and the
rest of her family. ... You wiU be glad to hear that the
Prince of Wales and his family read ‘ Cleopatra ’ on their way
out here, and think it your best book.

On December 3, 1889, I wrote to the Empress as
follows :

Madam, — My brother has written to me from Athens,
saying that your Majesty is disposed to honour me by accepting
the dedication of my romance, ‘ Eric Brighteycs.’

In a letter to him — which I believe your Majesty has seen —
I have set out the reasons which caused me to make this offer.
Therefore I will not trouble your Majesty by repeating them
any further than to say how deeply honoured I shall be should
you finally decide to accept my dedication.

I now enclose for your Majesty's consideration that which
I have written to this end. Should I be so fortunate as to win
approval for my draft dedication, would it be too much to ask
that one of the enclosed copies may be returned to me signed
by your Majesty’s hand, or that a written approval may be
conveyed to me in some other way ? I ask this in order to
protect myself from any possible future charge of having
presumed to write what I have written without full permission.

Next comes a letter from the Empress to my brother
William.

Naples, Grand Hotel: December 13, 1S89.

The Empress Frederick has received a few days ago a letter
from Mr. Haggard's brother on the subject of the dedication
of his romance, ‘ Eric Brighteyes.’

The Empress will have the greatest pleasure in accepting
the dedication, and begs Mr. Haggard to teU his brother so,
and also to convey her grateful thanks to him in her name,
for his letter and for the drafts of his dedication, to which the
Empress would suggest a small alteration, which has been
inserted in one copy.

‘ERIC’ AND ‘NADA’ 3

It is indeed true that the Emperor Frederick while at San
Remo — during those months of anxiety, of alternate hopes
and fears, which he bore with a fortitude, patience and gentle-
ness never to be forgotten — ^found great pleasure in reading
Mr. Rider Haggard’s books. He as well as the Empress
especially admired ‘ Jess,’ of which she read out a great part
to him aloud. How pleasant were the hours so spent — and
how bitter it is to look back on the last happiness of days never
to return — can easily be imagined.

Mr. Rider Haggard says in his letter that he leaves for
Greece on the 13th ; so the Empress sends this on to Athens.
The Empress hopes the slight change she suggests in one
passage of the dedication — ^which she thinks charming — ^will
not annoy the author, and she is anxiously looking forward to
reading the book itself, which will now have a special interest
for her 1 The Empress regrets exceedingly that Mr. Haggard’s
brother was not at Athens during her stay there, and that she
thus lost the pleasure of making his acquaintance, but hopes
she may be more fortunate another time.

On January 19, 1890, the Empress sent me a
registered holograph letter from Berlin, which is now
bound up with the manuscript of the book. It runs as
follows :

The Empress Frederick thanks Mr. Rider Haggard for his
letter of the 27th December, and greatly regrets the long delay
in answering.

Mr. R. Haggard no doubt has heard of the sad circum-
stances which caused so hurried a departure from Rome.
Since arriving here many unavoidable duties have completely
taken up the Empress’s time.

Mr. R. Haggard will understand this all the better as he
and his family have so recently sustained a sad loss of the same
kind — for which the Empress takes this opportunity of offering
her sincere condolences. The Empress encloses the printed
draft of the dedication with a suggestion for a slight alteration ;
and begs Mr. R. Haggard to accept her best thanks for the
copy of ‘ Jess ’ and the collection of stories just published.

4 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

which she is looking forward to reading when she has a little
leisure.

With this letter are two copies of the dedication,
annotated in the hand of the Empress, for it seems
that it was sent to her twice before it was finally settled
as it appears in the book. A few years later, when
I was at Homburg for my health, the Empress Frederick
asked me to lunch, and I had a long and interesting
conversation with her. As I kept no notes, however,
I forget its details. She impressed me as a singularly
charming and able lady.

' Eric ’ commended itself very much to Lang. Here
is the first thing I can find about it in his letters.

‘ Eric ’ begins Ai. I don’t know what about the public,
but I love a saga but even too well, especially if it be a bloody
one delicately narrated, or a very affectionate thing indeed
but brutally set down, as Shakespeare says. I have only read
Chapter i, but it’s the jockey for me.

P.S . — I have read four chapters, including Golden Falls.

I think it is the best thing you have done, but of course I am
saga-fain ! I didn’t think anyone could do it.

Next letter, dated Saturday.

I have got Eric into Swanhild’s toils, and I don’t tbinV
I have come to a dull page yet. I don’t want to flatter, but it
literally surprises me that anyone should write such a story
nowadays. Charles Kingsley would have spoiled it by maun-
dering and philosophising. I have hardly seen a line which is
not in keeping yet. Also the plot is a good natural plot and
the characters, except Gudruda, sympathetic. I tbinlf she
might be a little less feminine and ill-willy. As literature
I really think it is a masterpiece so far as I have gone. I’d
almost as soon have expected more Homer as more saga.

I don’t think much of the boy who can lay it down till it is
finished ; women of course can’t be expected to care for it.
Surely it should come out before the ‘ Bow,’ which is such a
flukey thing, whereas, whatever reviews and people may say.

‘ERIC’ AND ‘NADA’ 5

‘ Eric ’ is full of the best qualities of poetic [? word doubtful]
fiction.

Next letter, undated.

The more I consider ‘ Eric,’ the more I think that except
‘ Cleopatra,’ which you can’t keep back, I’d publish no novel
before ' Eric.’ It is so very much the best of the lot in aH
ways. Probably you don’t agree, and the public probably
won’t stop to consider, but it is. I’d like to suggest one or
two remarks for a preface — ^if any. The discovery of the dead
mother and the dialogue with the Carline struck me very much.
Clearly Swanhild needed no witchcraft, and as certainly her
natural magic would have been interpreted so — at the time
and much later. Perhaps the final bust-up might be less heavy
in the supernatural, or more distinctly represented as the
vision of fay men — subjective. Oddly enough, I found a Zulu
parallel to-day : ‘ I have made me a mat of men to lie on,’ says
the Zulu berserk when he had kUled twenty and the assegais
in his body were ‘ like reeds in a marsh.’ He is in Callaway.
... It is worth an infinite number of Cleopatras, partly
because you are at home in the North. I wouldn’t let anyone
peddle it about, or show people, but stick to someone like
Longman, if it were mine.

And again :

I suppose Ingram must see it,^ but I wish it could appear
to-morrow in a book. Comparisons are odious, and I under-
stand your preferring ‘ Cleopatra.’ People inevitably prefer
what gives them most serious labour. But it’s a natural gift
that really does the trick. I bet a pound George Eliot preferred
‘ Romola ’ and ‘ Daniel Deronda ’ to ' Scenes of Clerical Life.’
I have a hideous conscience which knows that a baUad or a
leading article are the best things I have done, though I’d
prefer to prefer ‘ Helen of Troy.’ But she’s a bandbox.

The last letter that I can find of Lang’s which has
to do with ‘ Eric Brighteyes ’ was evidently written in
answer to one from myself in which I must have shown

^ For the Illustrated London News, — Ed.

THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

depression at certain criticisms that he made verbally
or otherwise upon the book.

Bosh ! It is a rattling good story ! But I am trying to
read it as critically as I can, and I am rather fresh from saga-
reading. This makes me see more clearly than other people
the immense difficulty in combining a saga with a story of love,
which, except in the ‘ Volsunga,’ where the man was one of the
foremost geniuses in the world, they never attempted. Other
people won’t read it like that, and it is not right that it should
be read in that way. Done in my way it would be rather
pedantry than literature, but I am a born pedant. It is chock
fun of things nobody else could have done : indeed nobody
else could have done any of it. The Saevuna part is excellent :
I only doubted whether, for effect, her cursing speech should
not be terser. I never read the very end, as it had affected me
quite enough before I came to that. The scene on shipboard
is not too like the Wanderer bit [in ‘ The World’s Desire.’ —
H. R. H.], because it is worked out and credible. The cloak,
however, would suffice and be all right, without the replacing
of the bonds, which, under the cloak, would be needless. The
other bit, the seduction, is all right in itself : but it is one of the
passages which the sagas would have slurred, as not interesting
to their bloodthirsty public. I think it may be none the worse
for what you have done to it. Don’t ‘ tine heart ’ about it
because of my pedantries. It is because it is good that I want
it to be best. SkaUagrim is always worth his weight in wadmal,
whatever wadmal may be. The death of Groa fetches me less,
I don’t know why. However, if you once don’t think well of
it, in the nature of man it is certain to be more excellent, just
as one always did well in examinations where one despaired.
It is a queer fact, but it is so. The style is capital, but I rather
tl^ that of ‘ Nada ’ is still better. I hope I shall live to re-
view it, or rather that I shall review it if I live. For heaven’s
sake, don’t be disgusted with it, or me because I look at it
though a microscope. If I didn’t my looking at it would be of
little use. None of my things are worth the lens, and the
trouble, so I don’t.

Yours ever,

A. Lang.

‘ERIC’ AND ‘NADA’ 7

‘ Eric ’ came out in due course, and did well enough.
Indeed as a book it found, and still continues to find,
a considerable body of readers. My recollection is,
however, that it was reviewed simply as a rather
spirited and sanguinary tale. Lang was quite right.
The gentlemen who dispense praise and blame to us
poor authors have not, for the most part, made a study
of the sagas or investigated the lands where these were
enacted. I wonder if it has ever occurred to the
average reader how much the writer of a book which
he looks at for an hour or two and throws aside must
sometimes need to know, and what long months or
years of preparation that knowledge has cost him?
Probably not. My extended experience of the average
reader is to the effect that he thinks the author pro-
duces these little things in his leisure moments, say
when he, the reader, would be smoking his cigarettes,
and this without the slightest effort.

To return to ‘ The World’s Desire.’ This work also
came out in due course, and was violently attacked :
so I gather from Lang’s letters, for I have none of the
reviews. All that I remember about them is the effort
of its assailants to discriminate between that part of
the work which was written by Lang and that part
which was written by myself — an effort, I may add,
that invariably failed. However, aU these things have
long gone by, and the book remains and — ^is read, by
some with enthusiasm.

Here is another note from Lang from Scotland,
headed Ravensheugh, Selkirk, Friday.

Stevenson says he is ‘ thrilled and chilled ’ by Meriamun.
He thinks much of it ‘ too steep,’ bars Od(ysseus) killing so
many, enemies — exactly what Longinus says of Homer — and
fears Meriamun is likely to play down Helen. He is kind

THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

enough to say ‘ the style is all right,’ and adds a poem on
Odysseus. I’ll send you the letter presently.

I suppose that Lang did send this letter, and that
I returned it to him. I believe that subsequently he
lost both the letter and the poem. Luckily, however,
I took the trouble to keep a copy of the latter, and here
it is.

Awdawcious Odyshes,

Your conduc’ is vicious.

Your tale is suspicious
An’ queer.

Ye ancient sea-roamer.

Ye dour auld beach-comber,

Frae Haggard to Homer
Ye veer.

2 .

Sic veerin’ and steerin’ !

What port are ye neerin’

As frae Egypt to Erin
Ye gang ?

Ye ancient auld blackguard.
Just see whaur ye’re staggered
From Homer to Haggard
And Lang !

3 -

In stunt and in strife
To gang seeking a wife —

At your time o’ life

It was wrang.

An’ see ! Fresh afflictions
Into Haggard’s descriptions
An’ the plagues o' the Egyptians
Ye sprang !

‘ERIC' AND ‘NADA’

4 -

The folk ye’re now in wi’

Are ill to begin wi’

Or to risk a hale skin wi’

In breeks —

They’re blacker and better —
(Just ask your begetter)

And far frae bein’ better
Than Greeks.

5 -

Ther’s your Meriamun :

She’ll niebbe can gammon
That auld-furrand salmon
Yoursel’ ;

An’ Moses and Aaron
WiU gie ye your fairin’

Wi’ fire an' het aim
In HeU.

I refuse to continue longer. I had an excellent half-verse
there, but couldn’t get the necessary pendant, and an3rway
there’s no end to such truck.

Yours,

R. L. S.

Now I will turn to my modem novel, ‘ Beatrice.’
Oddly enough, Lang liked it, although he says some-
where that he ' infinitely prefers ’ Umslopogaas and
Skallagrim.

I have read your chapters of ‘ Beatrice.’ Sursum corda : it
moves, it has go and plenty of it. ... I fear it is a deal more
popular line than ‘ The World’s Desire.’

May Zth.

I have read ‘ Beatrice,’ and if she interests the pubhc
as much as she does me, she’ll do. But I have marked it
a good deed, and would be glad to go through it with you,
looking over the scribbled suggestions. It is too late, but what

THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

a good character some male Elizabeth would have been; nosing
for dirt, scandal, spite and lies. He might easily have been
worked in, I think. . . . They \i.e. the hero and heroine] are
a good deal more in love than Odysseus, Laertes' son, and Mrs.
Menelaus ! It is odd : usually you ‘ reflect ’ too much, and
yet in this teile, I think, a few extra reflections might have
been in place. I feel a Thackerayan desire to moralise.

Here is another allusion.

A letter I wrote anent B. was never posted. I said I did
not quite think Geoffrey gave the sense of power, etc.; and that
his rudeness to B. was overdone and cubbish, which you notice
yourself. I think, in volume shape, that might yet be amended.

Miss Marie Corelli writes on June 12, 1890 :

If you are still in town, and you would favour me with a
call on Sunday afternoon next, about five o’clock, I should be
so pleased to renew the acquaintance made some months past,
when your kindly words made me feel more happy and en-
couraged me in my uphill clamber ! I saw you from the gallery
at the Literary Fund Dinner, and wished I had had the chance
of speaking to you. Your book ‘ Beatrice ’ is beautiful — full
of poetry and deep thought — ^but I don’t believe the public —
that with obstinate pertinacity look to you for a continuation
ad infinitum of ‘ King Solomon’s Mines ’ and ‘ She ’ — will
appreciate it as they ought and as it deserves. Whenever I
see a World and Pall Mall Gazette vulgarly sneering at a work
of Hterature, I conclude that it must be good — exceptionally
so ! — and this is generally a correct estimate : it certainly was
so concerning ‘ Beatrice.’

Trusting you will come and see me (we are very quiet
people and don’t give crushes !),

Beheve me.

Very sincerely yours,

Marie Corelli.

Here is a letter from the late Lady Florence Dixie,
whom I first met years before in South Africa, which
is interesting as showing that in the year 1890 she held

'ERIC' AND ‘NADA’

views that since then have become very common. In
short, she was a proto-suffragette.

You will, I hope, excuse this letter, and not misunderstand
me in what I say. I have just finished reading your ‘ Beatrice,’
and have put it down with a feeling that it is only another book
in the many which proclaims the rooted idea in men’s minds
that women are born to suffer and work for men, to hide all
their natural gifts that man may rule alone.

Does it not strike you that Beatrice — ^if she had been given
equal chances with Geoffrey — ^would have made a name as
great, aye, greater than his ? Yet because she is a woman you
will give her no such chance. You leave her to her useless,
aimless, curtailed and wretched life which ends in suicide.
Think you not that Beatrice in Geoffrey’s shoes might have
made a great name for good ? Forgive me — but as you
can write, why not use your pen to upraise woman, to bid her
become a useful member of society — the true companion and
co-mate of man, and they working together shall help to make
impossible such miserable victims of a false and unnatural
bringing up as Elizabeth and Lady Honoria? You hold such
women up to scorn. Yet are they the fruit of unnatural laws
which men have wrongfully imposed on womankind. Greatly
and in many ways does woman err in aU paths of life — but is
she entirely to blame ? You men have made her your play-
thing and slave : she is regarded more in the light of a brood
mare than anything else ; and if within her narrow sphere she
errs, who is to blame ? Not her, beheve me, but the false
laws that made her what she is.

I have just published a new book, ' Gloriana ; or. The
Revolution of 1900.’

Will you give me the pleasure of accepting a copy if I send
you one ? If you read it, you will not misunderstand this
letter I hope.

Believe me.

Sincerely yours,

Florence Dixie.

P.S. — I hope you wUl excuse me for sending you some
papers which will show you that there are some women, and

12 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

men too, who feel that the cruel position of woman is
unbearable.

Alas ! 1900 has come and gone years ago, and the
Revolution is stiU to seek. But perhaps it is at hand.
At any rate Lady Florence strove manfuUy for her
cause in those early days, if in the circumstances
‘ manfully ' is the right word to use.

I find a letter dealing with ‘ Beatrice ' from Cordy
Jeaffreson, from which I quote an extract ;

... It is a fine, stirring, effective story ; but with aU its
power and dexterity it is not the book which will determine
your eventual place in the annals of literature. You will
write that book some ten years hence, when I shall be resting
under the violets ; and when you are enjoying the fullness of
your triumph, you will perhaps give me a kindly thought and
say, ‘ The old man was right.’ In a line, it is no small thing
to have thrown off ‘ Beatrice,' but you will do something much
greater when ‘ you’ve come to forty year.’ The story
strengthens my confidence in you, though it falls short of all
I hoped for you. This is not damning with faint praise.

Ever yours,

J- C. J.

Alas ! that wondrous work of fiction which Cordy
Jeaffreson anticipated never was and never will be
written by me. Be it good or be it bad, the best that
I can do in the hnes of romance and novel-woriting is to
be found among the first dozen or so of the books that
I wrote, say between ‘ King Solomon’s Mines ’ and
‘ Montezuma’s Daughter.’ Also I would add this. A
man's mind does not always remai n the same. People
are apt to say of any individual writer that he has gone
off, whereas the truth may be merely that he has
changed, and that his abilities are showing themselves
in another form. Now, as it happens in my own case,
in the year 1891 I received a great shock ; also subse-

‘ERIC’ AND ‘NADA’ 13

quently for a long period my health was bad. Although
from necessity I went on with the writing of stories,
and do so still, it has not been with the same zest.
Active rather than imaginative life has appealed to me
more, and resulted in the production of such works
as ‘ Rural England,’ ‘ A Farmer’s Year,’ and others.
Moreover, I have never really cared for novel-siting :
romance has always made a greater appeal to me.

Here is a letter from Lang, to whom I had evidently
shown that from Mr. Jeaffreson which is quoted above.

I don’t much agree with Jeaffreson. The book is a com-
promise, by its nature, and rather contains good things than is
very good, to my taste, but it is only taste, not reason. Lord
knows what you may write, or anybody read, in ten years.
More than sufficient to the day is the evil thereof. The
character of Geoffrey goes against my grain, but what he should
have been, to satisfy me, I don’t know.

I imagine you missed your tip, by not being bom nine
hundred years ago. I might have been a monk of Ely, and
you might have flayed me and composed a saga at first hand.
It would have been a good saga, but I could not stand being
flayed, I know. I am worried and sad and seedy, and far from
a successful correspondent. . . . Jeaff. is very kind, however,
though not a prophet nor a critic, I think. The former quality
is much better.

Some years after ‘ Beatrice ' was published I was
horrified to receive two anonymous or semi-anonymous
letters from ladies who alleged that their husbands, or
the husbands of someone connected with them — one
of them a middle-aged clergyman — after reading
‘ Beatrice,’ had made advances to young ladies of that
name ; or perhaps the young ladies had made advances
to them which they more or less reciprocated — I forget
the exact facts. Also I heard that a gentleman and
a lady had practised the sleep-walking scene, with

14 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE .

different results from those recorded in the book. These
stories troubled me so much — since I had never dreamed
of such an issue to a tale with a different moral — that
I wished to suppress the book, and wrote to Charles
Longman suggesting that this should be done ; also
I took counsel with Lang and other friends. They
thought me extremely foolish, and were rather in-
dignant about the business. Longman’s views are
expressed in such of his letters as I can find dealing
with the matter, only he added that, even if there had
been any reason for it, it was not possible to suppress
a book so widely known, especially after it had been
pirated in America. Lang’s letters I have not time
to find at present, but I remember that they were to the
same effect. Here are those from Longman, or as
much of them as is pertinent.

39 Paternoster Row :

November 28, 1894.

My dear Rider, — I will get hold of the Saturday Review
and Spectator reviews of ‘ Beatrice.’ I have not heard anything
from Liverpool yet about that person, but I will let you hear
as soon as I can. I will not write fuUy yet on the subject, but I
may say that the idea that the character of Beatrice could lead
anyone into vice is preposterous. StiU less is the example of
Bingham likely to throw an unnatural glamour over seduction :
in the first place, he was man enough to resist temptation ; in
the next place, both he and Beatrice were most unmercifully
punished. Do not let this matter worry you. I assure you
there is nothing you need regret.

Longman also wrote :

Christmas Day, 1894.

I like the Preface to ‘ Beatrice ’ much better as amended.
Lang is quite right : your feelings in the matter did infinite
credit to your heart, but you disturbed yourself unnecessarily.
I am glad we inquired into that Liverpool story and pricked

‘ERIC' AND ‘NADA’ 15

the bubble. I will send you a revise of the Preface. I return
Lang's letter.

I have now found this letter of Lang’s to which
Longman refers. It is dated from St. Andrews on
December 20th, and begins :

You Confounded Ass. The thing is Rot. Don’t take it
au serieux. At least that is how it strikes me. If you must
say something, say what I leave in. The novel seems to me
perfectly devoid of moral harm. There are still hopes here
that the Samoan story is a lie [this refers to the death of
Stevenson]. It has caused me sincere grief, but, at fifty, one
seems rather case-hardened. However, don’t you go and leave
the world before me. R. L. S. had as much pluck, and as kind
a heart, as any man that ever lived, and extraordinary charm.

The ‘ Liverpool story ’ to which Longman refers
was, I believe, one of those detailed in the anonymous
letters. Evidently he caused it to be inquired into and
found that it was baseless.

The end of the matter was that I went through the
tale carefully, modified or removed certain passages
that might be taken to suggest that holy matrimony is
not always perfect in its working, etc., and wrote a short
preface which may now be read in all the copies printed
since that date.

As I have said, the incident disturbed me a good
deal, and more or less set me against the writing of
novels of modern life. It is very weU to talk about art
with a large A, but I have always felt that the author
of books which go anywhere and everywhere has some
responsibilities. Therefore I have tried to avoid topics
that might inflame even minds which are very ready to
be set on fire.

The charge has been brought against me that my
pages have breathed war. I admit it, and on this point

i6 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

am quite unrepentant. Personally I may say that I
have a perfect horror of war, and hope that I may not
live to see another in which my country is involved,
for it seems to me terrible that human beings should
destroy each other, often enough from motives that do
not bear examination. Yet there is such a thing as
righteous war, and if my land were invaded I should
think poorly of anyone, myself included, who did not
fight like a wild-cat. I am not even sure that I
would not poison the wells if I were unable to get rid
of the enemy in any other way. What is the difference
between killing a man with a drug and killing him with
a bomb or by hunger and thirst ? Patriotism is the
first duty, and the thing is to be rid of him somehow
and save your country. However, this is a question
on which I will not enter.

For the rest war brings forth many noble actions,
and there can be no harm in teaching the young that
their hands were given to them to defend their flag and
their heads. If once a nation forgets to learn that
lesson it will very soon be called upon to writ Finis
beneath its history. I fear that we, or some of us, are in
that way now — or so I judge from the horror expressed
upon every side at the doctrine that men should not
grudge a year or so of their lives to be spent in learning
the art of war. If God gave us our homes, I presume
that He meant us to protect them !

I think that the next book I wrote after ‘ Eric,' or
at any rate the next that was printed, was ' Nada the
Lily,’ which I began upon June 27, 1889, and finished
on January 15, 1890. It is pure Zulu story, and, as
I beheve I have said, I consider it my best or one of
my best books. At any rate, the following letter from
my friend Rudyard Kipling seems to show that this
story has one claim on the gratitude of the world.

‘ERIC’ AND ‘NADA’ 17

Vermont, U.S.A. :

October 20 , 1895.

Dear Haggard, — Watt has just forwarded me a letter
addressed to you from a bee-keeping man who wanted to quote
something of a jungle tale of mine. I dare say it didn’t amuse
you, but it made me chuckle a little and reminded me, inci-
dentally, that the man was nearer the mark than he knew :
for it was a chance sentence of yours in ' Nada the Lily ’ that
started me off on a track that ended in my writing a lot of wolf
stories. You remember in your tale where the wolves leaped
up at the feet of a dead man sitting on a rock ? Somewhere
on that page I got the notion. It’s curious how things come
back again, isn’t it ? I meant to tell you when we met ; but
I don’t remember that I ever did.

Yours always sincerely,

Rudyard Kipling.

Here are some extracts from Lang's letters on the
subject of ' Nada/

April 2otk,

I read right through to Chaka’s death. It is admirable,
the epic of a djdng people, but it wants relief. Massacre palls
The old boy {i.e. the narrator of the story, Mopo) would have
given no relief, naturally, but an idyll or two seem needed.
The style is as good as it can be, an invention. I think a word
or two more in the preface might be useful. I have made a
slight suggestion or so. I hke ‘ Eric ’ better, but this is perhaps
more singidar. How any white man can have such a natural
gift of savagery, I don’t know. The Wolves are astonishing.

Yours ever,

A. L.

The next letter is undated, but was probably written
within a day or two of that just quoted.

I’ve finished ‘ Nada.’ If all the reviewers in the world
denied it, you can do the best sagas that have been done yet :
except ‘Njcila’ perhaps. Poor Nada! I hope it will be done
into Zulu. The old wolf Death-grip was a nice wolf.

VOI.. II.

i8 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

May i^ih-

Many thanks for the book. You know exactly what I
think of ‘ B.’ [‘ Beatrice ’], but I like your natural novels better
a long way than your modern ones at the best, which this
probably is. Beatrice is all right when anything flares up,
and all right when in the open air, but the Lady Honorias of
this world are not in your beat nor mine. . . . But, oh, how
much I prefer Galazi and SkaUagrim to these moderns !

St. Andrews : January iSih.

I'll return ‘ Nada ’ to-morrow. The Wolves are the best
thing of yours I know. Indeed the unity of tone and savagery
throughout are unique. But there wiU be rows about the end-
less massacres. I have no doubt a Zulu epic would be like this,
but reviewers are not Zulus, worse luck. I think that it is
excellent, and quite alone in literature as a picture of a strange
life. But one knows the public. It is far more veracious than
‘ Eric,’ and far less modern : also far less rhetorical. Chaka is
a masterpiece. But I am a voice clamantis in eremo ; people
won’t understand. The realien are awfully well done, no
appearance of cram about them.

Lang was quite right about the reviewers. They
for the most part, not having mixed with savages, and
never having heard of Chaka and only dimly of the
Zulus — for by this time our war vrith that people was
forgotten — saw little in the book except unnecessary
bloodshed. But there it is : a picture, as Lang says,
‘ of a dying people.’ I hope that hundreds of years
hence the highly educated descendants of the Zulu race
may read it and learn therefrom something of the spirit
of their own savage ancestors.

I cannot find many letters about ‘ Nada.’ Here,
however, is one from Charles Longman, dated May 14,
1890.

' Nada ' strikes me with wonder and awe. It is in some ways
the greatest feat you have performed : I mean because you
have constructed a story in which the dramatis personae are aU

^ERIC’ AND ^NADA^ 19

savages and yet you have kept the interest going throughout.
There will of course be a terrible outcry about gore. I never
read such a book. It is frightful, and the only justification
for it is the fact that it is history, not imagination. Wherever
it is possible I would tone down the effect rather than heighten
it, so as to avoid the charge of wallowing or gloating as far as
possible. The wolves and the wolf brethren are delightful ;
I wish you could have given us more of them. I was very
glad to meet our old friend Umslopogaas as a boy.

These two letters are from Sir Theophilus Shepstone
to whom the work was dedicated. The first is headed
Durban, Natal, August 18, 1891.

My DEAR Haggard, — I was very, very glad to see your
handwriting again in a note addressed to me. For I know not
how long past, I have never thought of you without a pang of
conscience : and I need not say that I have often and often
thought of you, and felt proud of you, and rejoiced at your
success.

The truth is that for a time I had always the intention in
my mind of writing to you, but I thought that a short note
would not be worth sending, so the doing of it was postponed
from one time to another until at last the difficulty became
insuperable apparently, for I could scarcely hope that after so
long a silence and seeming indifference any letter from me
could be welcome. Your kind note and stiU kinder proposal,
however, clear all that uncomfortable feeling away, and I am
pleased accordingly to find that after aU you bear no ill-wiU.
Of course I shall take it as a great comphment and a gracious
and Christian way of turning the other cheek to be smitten if you
carry out your proposal to dedicate your new Zulu novel to me.
If I had known that you were engaged upon such a work
I might have helped you with materials. . . . But when I saw
that you were oscillating between the North and South Poles,
calling at Cairo and dallying a bit at the Equator in your
erratic course, I concluded that your interest in these parts
had ceased. . . .

I have been for some time past very unwell, and two months
ago they sent me down here for change of air. I am not to

THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

go back till the end of this month or the beginning of next.
Meanwhile the change is doing me great good, and I feel better
and stronger than I have felt for several years. I had begun
to lose a great deal of interest in passing events, and felt
unable to enjoy much of life, but all this has now changed for
the better, I am glad to say. ... If ever you have a moment
to spare I should be glad, so glad, to hear how the friends
are who were so kind to me at your good old father’s house.
I am glad you had an opportunity of talking to old Osborn.
He is expected to arrive here in a day or two, and I shall have
the chance of hearing from him all about you. I am very
proud of my Transvaal colleagues ; every one of them has
distinguished himself in one way or another. Captain James
and Fynney; poor fellows, have, as the Zulus say, ‘ gone beyond. ’
I always feel indebted to you all for your loyal support and
zealous fellow-working in the Transvaal. This mail brought
me with your letter one from the editor of Greater Britain,
calling my attention to an article in the July number of that
periodical entitled ‘ Many Lands, One People ’ and asking my
views upon it. I shall write him a very short answer, for I am
sorry to say I am as yet unable to see anything practical in the
proposals of Imperial Federation. I am afraid you will think
me old-fashioned and heterodox, but I cannot as yet see any-
thing stronger than the bond which ties the members of a
family together. Love to you both from yours always
sincerely,

T. Shepstone.

In due course the dedication was finished and sent.
Charles Longman always thought it one of the best
things I had ever tvritten, and, when I told him the
other day that I was engaged upon this task, he espe-
cially asked me to insert it here. Therefore I do so.

Dedication

SoMPSEU :

For I will call you by the name that for fifty years has
been honoured by^every tribe between the Zambesi and Cape
Agulhas, — I greet you !

Sompseu, my father, I have written a book that tells of

‘ERIC’ AND ‘NADA’

men and matters of which you know the most of any who still
look upon the light ; therefore, I set your name within that
book and, such as it is, I offer it to you.

If you knew not Chaka, you and he have seen the same
suns shine, you knew his brother Panda and his captains, and
perhaps even that very Mopo who tells this tale, his servant,
who slew him with the Princes. You have seen the circle of
the witch-doctors and the unconquerable Zulu impis rushing
to war ; you have crowned their kings and shared their
counsels, and with your son’s blood you have expiated a
statesman’s error and a general’s fault.

Sompseu, a song has been sung in my ears of how first you
mastered this people of the Zulu. Is it not true, my father,
that for long hours you sat sUent and alone, while three
thousand warriors shouted for your life ? And when they
grew weary, did you not stand and say, pointing towards the
ocean : ‘ Kill me if you wish, men of Cetywayo, but I tell you
that for every drop of my blood a hundred avengers shall rise
from yonder sea ! ’

Then, so it was told me, the regiments turned staring
towards the Black Water, as though the day of Ulundi had
already come and they saw the white slayers creeping across
the plains.

Thus, Sompseu, your name became great among the people
of the Zulu, as already it was great among many another tribe,
and their nobles did you homage, and they gave you the Bayete,
the royal salute, declaring by the mouth of their Council that
in you dwelt the spirit of Chaka.

Many years have gone by since then, and now you are old,
my father. It is many years even since I was a boy, and
followed you when you went up among the Boers and took
their country for the Queen.

Why did you do this, my father ? I will answer, who know
the truth. You did it because, had it not been done, the Zulus
would have stamped out the Boers. Were not Cetywayo’s
impis gathered against the land, and was it not because it
became the Queen’s land that at your word he sent them
murmuring to their kraals ? To save bloodshed you annexed
the country beyond the Vaal. Perhaps it had been better to
leave it, since ‘ Death chooses for himself,’ and after aU there

THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

was Villing — of our own people, and with the killing, shame.
But in those days we did not guess what we should live to see,
and of Majuba we thought only as a httle hill !

Enemies have borne false witness against you on this
matter, Sompseu, you who never erred except through over
kindness. Yet what does that avail? When you have ‘gone
beyond' it will be forgotten, since the sting of ingratitude
passes and lies must wither like the winter veldt. Only your
name will not be forgotten ; as it was heard in hfe so it shall
be heard in story, and I pray that, however humbly, mine may
pass down with it. Chance has taken me by another path,
and I must leave the ways of action that I love and bury myself
in books, but the old days and friends are in my mind, nor
while I have memory shall I forget them and you.

Therefore, though it be for the last time, from far across
the seas I speak to you, and lifting my hand I give you your
‘ Sibonga ’ ^ and that royal salute, to which, now that its kings
are gone and the ‘ People of Heaven ’ are no more a nation,
with Her Majesty you are alone entitled :

Bayete ! Baba, Nkosi ya makosi !

Ngonyama ! Indhlovu ai pendulwa !

Wen’ 0 wa vela wasi pata !

Wen’ o was hlul’ izizwe zonke za patwa nguive 1

Wa geina nge la Mabun’ o wa ba hlul’ u yedwa !

Umsizi we zintandane e zihlupekayo !

Si ya kuleka Baba !

Bayete, T’Sompseu ! ®

and farewell !

H. Rider Haggard.

To Sir Theophilus Shepstone, K.C.M.G., Natal.

x'^th September 1891.

1 Titles of praise.

2 Bay6te, Father, Chief of Chiefs !

Lion 1 Elephant that is not turned !

You who nursed us from of old I

You who overshadowed all peoples and took charge of them,

And ended by mastering the Boers with your single strength I
Help of the fatherless when in trouble I
Salutation to you, Father !

Bayete, O Sompseu 1

‘ERIC’ AND ‘NADA’ 23

Here is the touching letter in which Sir Theophilus
acknowledges it. It is bound up with the manuscript of
‘ Nada/ and is the last that I ever received from him,
for he died during the following year.

Durban, Natal : July 13, 1892.

My dear Haggard, — ^Your gift reached me when I was
very seedy and unable to do much in the writing way. I have
come down here for change from the cold of Maritzburg, and
am much better.

I need not say how gratifying to me that gift was ; nor how
deeply touching to me the kind words of the Dedication were.
Indeed you give far more credit than I am entitled to. Your
kindly expressions, however, vividly brought to mind a whole
chapter of the pleasant past between us, the exact counterpart
of which wiU, I suppose, never occur to any other two. I feel
extremely grateful to you for your affectionate remembrances,
and for your plucky avowal of them, for I do not think that at
present it is fashionable to look either upon myself or my >drk
with much approval.

I cannot, however, help thinking that if some of my views
and advice had been acted on we should have avoided both
the national disaster and disgrace that took place after the
‘ pleasant past ’ that you and I spent together in the Transvaal.

The Boers did not really want to fight, and we are always
pusillanimous enough before we make up our minds to begin, so
we did not want to fight either ; but it appears that the Home
Government did want to undo the annexation. Nothing could
have been done more easily, or have looked more gracious to
those concerned. Why not have plainly told me their wish and
authorised me to carry it out ? We should have parted with
embraces and the best of mutual good feeling ; as it is we have
earned the contempt as well as the hatred of the Boers, and
very much puzzled the native races, who from considering us
their staunchest and most powerful protectors have come to
look upon us as the most unreliable of friends. And very good
cause they have for their change of view : look at the last
twelve or fourteen years’ history of Zululand. But I did not

24 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

want to go into polemics. As the Zulus would say, it is only
my way of thinking.

I hope the good little wife and aU the children are well ; my
love to her, please. I was much interested the other day by
an account of you all that appeared in the Strand Magazine,
which someone sent me from England. The pictures were,
I thought, very good indeed, and reminded me strongly of my
visit to Ditchingham, when I had the pleasure of spending
a few days with you.

Please remember me kindly to all the members of your
family. They were all so extremely kind to me.

Yours affectionately,

T. Shepstone.

These were his last words to me — ^words which,
I think, wiU be read with interest in the future, seeing
that they sum up his views of his Transvaal policy as
he held them just before his death. But I will not
attempt to reopen that matter, upon which I have
already said my say.

Vale, Sompseu, vale !

I used to know a good many interesting people
during those years when I lived in London.

Lord Goschen, then Mr. Goschen, dined with me at
a dinner I gave at the Savile Club, and we always
remained friendly till his death. He was a most able
and agreeable man ; also there was something rather
attractive about the low, husky voice in which he
addressed one, his head held slightly forward as though
he wished to be very confidential. Besides a number
of literary men, Mr. Balfour was my guest at that
dinner, and I think Lord Lytton also, I remember
that it was a most pleasant feast, at which seventeen
or eighteen people were present, and one that, to my
great relief, went off without a hitch.

‘ERIC’ AND ‘NAD A’ 25

It was Lang who introduced me to Mr. Balfour,
Of this circumstance I was reminded the other day
when I met Sir Ian Hamilton, Commander-in-Chief
of the British forces in the Mediterranean stations,
on the Orient liner Otway when I was returning from
Egypt (April 1912). He asked me if I remembered
a httle dinner that Lang gave at the Oxford and
Cambridge Club somewhere about 1886 or 1887, at
which Balfour, he, and I were the only guests. Then
it all came back to me. Lang asked me to meet
Mr. Balfour because he knew that already I wished
to escape from novel-writing and re-enter the pubhc
service, a matter in which he thought Mr. Balfour
might be of assistance. Ian Hamilton, his cousin, he
asked because he had escaped from Majuba, and I also
knew a great deal about Majuba.

By the way. General Hamilton, whom I had not
met from that day to this, gave me, while we were
on the ship together, a long and full account of his
experiences and sufferings in that dreadful rout ; but
as these tally very closely with what I have written in
t his book and elsewhere, I will not repeat them in aU
their painful detail. He was shot through the wrist
and struck on the head with splinters of stone. The
Boers dismissed him, teUing him that he would
‘ probably die.’ He passed a night in the cold, and,
had it not been for a kindly Boer who found him and
bound up his wrist — I think he said with a piece of
tin for a spHnt — he would probably have perished.
That Boer, Sir Ian Hamilton — ^who, by the way, is
now the only officer in the British Army who was
present at Majuba — ^met at Bloemfontein the other
day. Naturally they were the best of friends, and
Sir Ian has sent him a souvenir of the event. Finally,
as he lay unable to move, he was found by a British

26 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

search-party and taken back to camp, where in due
course he recovered.

I see that in ‘ Cetewayo and his White Neighbours ’
I stated that Majuba was attacked by two or three
hundred Boers, adding that I did not believe the story
which the Boers told me, that they rushed the moun-
tain with not more than a hundred men — a version
which subsequently I adopted in ‘ Jess.’ Sir Ian told
me, however, that the smaller figure was quite correct.
He even put it somewhat lower. A dreadful story, in
truth !

Talking of the Boer War reminds me of Sir Red vers
Buller. I knew him and his wife, Lady Audrey, very
well. We used to dine at their house, where we met
a number of distinguished people, among whom I
remember Lord Coleridge, the Chief Justice. He was
a brilHant conversationalist with a marvellous memory.
I have heard him tell story after story without stopping,
till at length I began to hope that the stock was running
low. Sir Redvers was always very kind to me, but he
was not a man to cross in argument. Once, at his own
table, I heard him differ from the late Lord Justice
Bowen in a way that made me glad that I was not
Lord Justice Bowen. What struck me was the extra-
ordinary patience with which the Judge submitted to
the scolding. He must have had a very sweet nature ;
indeed I always thought that this was so.

It was about this time that I first made the acquaint-
ance of Mr. Rudyard Kipling, who had recently arrived
in England, I suppose from India. He was then a
young fellow about five-and-twenty, and in appearance
and manner very much what he is to-day. I cannot
recall under what circumstances we first met. Perhaps
it was at a dinner-party which I gave at my house,
24 Redclifie Square, to some literary friends. I remem-

'ERIC’ AND 'NADA’ 27

ber that Kipling arrived late and explained the reason
by pointing to a cut upon his temple. Whilst he was
driving towards my house his hansom collided with
a van in Piccadilly, and there was a smash in which
he had a narrow escape. From that time forward
we have always liked each other, perhaps because on
many, though not on all, matters we find no point of
difference.

Another man very well known in his day with
whom I was acquainted was the great and accomplished
doctor, Sir Henry Thompson, by birth an East Anglian
like myself. Once I was present at one of his famous
octave dinners. If I remember right, we were received
in a room hung round with beautiful pictures by Etty,
as were others in the house. It had a couch in it on
which Sir Henry slept, or rather tried to sleep, at
nights. He suffered terribly from insomnia, and told
me that one of his plans to induce slumber was to
count thousands of imaginary sheep running through
a phantom gate. Also he would rise and walk about
the streets to cause weariness.

A very interesting gentleman whom I knew was the
late Mr. Meredith Townsend. He was one of the
editors and part owner of the Spectator, out of which
journal he told me he drew a comfortable ;^5ooo a year.
His conversation was particularly delightful and in-
forming, especially when he spoke of India.

I have before me a letter that he wrote to me before
I visited Iceland, in which he says :

It would be worth living to read your account of a Berserk,
a white Umslopogaas, with a vein of pity in him for women
only. ... You are aware that the Berserks when they left
their Aryan home on the northern slope of the Hindoo Koosh
took with them hemp and the dangerous knowledge of its
quality of producing a temporary fury of battle. The secret

28 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

still remains in India, and natives who mean killing swallow
bhang.

I think that this hint gave me the idea of my Norse
character, Skallagrim. Mr. Townsend told me that he
would live to be eighty, which he did. I, he said,
should die at sixty, as by then my highly strung tem-
perament would have worn me out. ‘ Quien sabe '
as the Mexicans say.

Another person whom I knew very well was Miss
Marjorie Barber, who has since become famous on the
strength of her delicately written and arresting booklet,
‘ The Roadmender,’ which was published after her
death.

My intimacy with Marjorie was brought about by
the fact that her sister Agnes — a woman with as fine
a literary sense and more all-round ability, although
circumstances and a family have allowed her but little
time to make use of them — ^became my sister-in-law
as I have said,’- and, before that event, for some
years lived in our house. While she was here, or
shortly afterwards, Mrs. Barber, her mother, and
Marjorie came to live at Bungay, a mile away, so that
I saw plenty of the latter. She was a tall and pretty
girl, very pleasant, very witty — I think one of the most
amusing afternoons I ever had in my life I spent with
her alone in the British Museum ; it was our last
meeting, I believe — and with all the eccentricity that
so usually accompanies a touch of genius.

At the time of her residence in Bungay she was
under the sway of a Low Church mania, and used to
appear dressed as a deaconess and with a large Bible
pressed against her middle. Nor was she above laugh-
ing at herself when the ludicrous aspect of her get-up

^ See Vol. I, p. 216 . — Ed.

‘ERIC’ AND ‘NADA’ 29

was pointed out to her. Subsequently, with a swing
of the mental pendulum she became equally High
Church, and modelled crucifixes and saints extremely
well. I think it was between these periods that she
was with difficulty restrained from starting off alone
to become a missionary in China. I remember well
that when her sister Mabel, now also dead, was informed
of one of these phases she wrote back : ‘ Oh ! for good-
ness’ sake leave Marjorie alone, for if it wasn’t that, it
would be " Captain Happy Eliza ” with a tambourine ! ’

In her later days, after her mother’s death at
Bungay, Marjorie met a lady doctor who, I think,
treated her for some illness. To this lady and her
husband she became so much attached that not only
did she go to live with them, but also formally adopted
their family name and, when she died, left them every-
thing she possessed. I believe that these adopted
parents were very kind to her, and nursed her well
during her last painful and complicated illness, which
I was told was tuberculous in its origin.

It was only during her last years that Marjorie
took to writing, which, seeing how great were her
abilities in this direction, is unfortunate. It is, how-
ever, quite possible, judging from what I know of her
disposition, that if she had begun earlier she would
have wearied of the business and cast it aside. As it
was, she showed great perseverance under distressing
circumstances, for, when she became unable to use her
right hand, she taught herself to write with the left
and in all sorts of strange attitudes made necessary by
her complaint. Personally I prefer ‘ Brother Hilarius ’
to all her few other literary efforts, not excluding the
much-praised ‘ Roadmender,’ perhaps because of its
charming pictures of the scenery of this neighbourhood.

Marjorie had considerable psychic powers. Thus

30 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

her sister Agnes told me only the other day that she
had actually known her, when lying helpless in bed,
to read a newly opened letter held in a person’s hand
at the other end of a long room far beyond her reach of
vision, vrithout, of course, any acquaintance with the
contents of the letter. Her sister told me also — she
was present at the time — ^she believed that she really
died some days before the breath actually left her.
In this connection she exampled the conduct of a little
dog in the house — I think it was a fox-terrier — ^which
was much attached to Marjorie and for long weeks at
a time could scarcely be got away from her bedside.
A few days before her actual breathing ceased, however,
this dog suddenly left the room, and could not by any
means be prevailed upon to return there. Such at
least is the story as it came to me.

I am very sorry not to have seen more of Marjorie
during her last years, but in truth she vanished away
from kith and kin and friends.

Another of my early friends, who, I am glad to say,
still survives, is Dr. Wallis Budge, ^ the head of the
Egyptian Department of the British Museum, to whom
not long ago I dedicated my book ‘ Morning Star,’ an
attention that pleased him very much. I really think
that Budge is both the most industrious and the most
learned man of my acquaintance. How he can com-
pass all the work he gets through — and such work ! —
is to me one of the marvels of the age. As might be
expected, he is a great believer in the Old Egyptians ;
indeed, as I told him not long ago, he has been so long
of their company in spirit that almost he has become
one of them. Budge seems to be of opinion that the
ancient thinkers among this people discovered aU that
we can learn of the mysteries which relate to the life

1 Now Sir E. W. Budge.

'ERIC’ AND ‘NAD A’ 31

of the soul, the resurrection, etc. In times that passed
away before history began — ^when, as he sa5rs, men had
leisure for reflection — they found out much that we think
now. Afterwards, he remarked to me, the medicine-
man and the paid priest arose and overlaid the truth
with all the fantasies and formulas and ridiculous
details of symbolical worship which it was to their
advantage to imagine and maintain. If I understand
him right, he holds that religion pure and undefiled
wells up spontaneously in the heart of man, and that
afterwards it is smothered, and even killed, with the
dross of ritual and controversy where professional
theologians pitch their camps.

There has been much talk of late of a painted board
on which a face is carved, which once rested on the
mummy of a priestess of Amen who lived about
1500 B.c. It has been supposed to bring misfortune
to those who had anything to do with it, or who even
looked upon it.

One day in the autumn of 1889 a gentleman was
shown into Dr. Budge’s room in the British Museum
and, producing a photograph of the painted board,
asked him to tell him what the object represented was.
Budge saw at once that it was an object of which the
Museum had few examples, and that it was in a good
state of preservation, and also an antica of considerable
value. The visitor said, ‘ Do you want it ? ’ Budge
said, ‘ Yes, but we have no money.’ Visitor: ‘I don’t
want money. I’ll give it to you.’ Budge: ‘Very hand-
some of you. Please give me your name and address,
and I wiU report your generous gift to the Trustees.’
The visitor did so, but lingered, and after a time said,
‘ Could you send for it to-day ? ’ There was difficulty,
it then being three o’clock, in getting a van and
men, but they were got and sent for the board. The

32 . THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

visitor asked if he might remain till the board came,
and Budge gave him books to look at. In due course
the board arrived and the men brought it upstairs,
and the visitor got up and thanked Budge profusely.
Said Budge, ‘ The thanks are due to you from us.’
Whereupon the visitor took Budge by the hand and
said words to this effect ; ‘ Thank God you have taken
the damned thing ! There is an evil spirit in it which
appears in its eyes. It was brought home by a friend
of mine who was travelling with Douglas Murray, and
he lost all his money when a bank in China broke, and
his daughter died. I took the board into my house.
The eyes frightened my daughter into a sickness. I
moved it to another room, and it threw down a china
cabinet and smashed a lot of Sevres china in it. The
cook saw it and fainted, and the other servants saw
flashes of fire come from the eyes, and ran away from
the house. A friend suggested the giving it to the
Museum, and, thank God ! you have accepted it.
I want no thanks. I shall be ever in your debt.'
With these words he left the room and Budge saw him
no more. The board was put into the mummy room,
and Douglas Murray and W. T. Stead came and
examined it and said it possessed psychic powers — ^that
a soul in torment was chained up in the board, and so
on. All this got into the papers, and much nonsense
besides. Budge said that the board had given them
no trouble, and published it in one of his books.

A certain mummy had many weird stories attached
to it. It was bought by ‘ Midge ’ Ingram of the
Illustrated London News and brought to London.
Budge was sent to report upon it by his chief. Dr. Birch,
and he said it belonged to the Ptolemaic Period and
came from Akhmim, in Upper Eg57pt. Ingram bought
it in Luxor, and was said to have carried it off without

‘ERIC’ AND ‘NAD A’ 33

paying what the native wanted for it. The native ran
alter the boat along the bank for miles, and cursed
Ingram with all his might in the name of Allah. Among
the inscriptions on the coffin were extracts from a
funerary work, and the copy of it in the British Museum
had a curse attached. The curse declared that the
man who stole the work, or burnt it, or buried it, or
drowned it, should be blotted out, his body and seed
destroyed for ever, etc. During a shooting tour in
Somaliland Ingram shot at a huge she-elephant with
buck-shot and enraged the beast. He fired again, and
the elephant pursued him among the pahns, and finally
caught him with her trunk and lifted him into the air
and dashed him limb from limb. Then she found the
trunk and trod it with her feet to a pulp. Sir Henry
Meux, who was of the party, collected the remains,
put them in a box and buried them, but a few days
later the box was washed out of its bed, and the party
decided to carry it to the sea-coast. Before Ingram
left England he gave the mummy — ^which he had agreed
to sell to the British Museum — to Lady Meux of
Theobalds Park, who placed it in her Egyptian col-
lection. There it lay for several years, and Lady Meux
used to go into the museum every day and pray by the
side of the case containing it. Budge published a fuU
description of the mummy and coffin, and a splendid
collotype reproduction of the coffin, in the ‘ Catalogue ’
of the Meux Collection which he made for Lady Meux.
The collection was bequeathed to the British Museum
by Lady Meux, but her conditions were such that the
proposed gift could not be accepted. The collection
was then sold by auction and dispersed.

I asked Budge if he believed in the efficacy of curses.
He hesitated to answer. At length he said that in the
East men believed that curses took effect, and that he

VOL. II.

34 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

had always avoided driving a native to curse him.
A curse launched into the air was bound to have an
effect if coupled with the name of God, either on the
person cursed or on the curser. Budge mentioned the
case of Palmer, who cursed an Arab of Sinai, and the
natives turned the curse on him by throwing him and
his companions down a precipice, and they were dashed
to pieces. Budge added, ‘ I have cursed the fathers
and female ancestors of many a man, but I have always
feared to curse a man himself.’

Two other stories of Budge’s are worth preserving.

When he was at Cambridge Dr. Peile of Christ’s
offered him an exhibition if he would be examined in
Assyrian, and as Budge’s funds were exiguous he was
very anxious to get the exhibition. An examiner,
Professor Sayce of Oxford, was found to set the papers
— ^four in aU — and the days for the examination were
fixed. The night before the day of the examination
Budge dreamed a dream in which he saw himself
seated in a room that he had never seen before —
a room rather like a shed with a skylight in it. The
tutor came in with a long envelope in his hand, and
took from it a batch of green papers, and gave one of
these to Budge for him to work at that morning. The
tutor locked him in and left him. When he looked at
the paper he saw it contained questions and extracts
from bilingual Assyrian and Akkadian texts for trans-
lation. The questions he could answer, but he could
not translate the texts, though he knew them by sight,
and his emotions were so great that he woke up in
a fright. At length he fell asleep, but the dream
repeated itself twice, and he woke up in a greater fright
than before. He then got up — ^it was about 2 a.m. —
went downstairs to his room, lighted a fire, and, finding
the texts in the second volume of Rawlinson’s great

‘ERIC’ AND ‘NADA’ 35

work, found the four texts and worked at them till
breakfast-time, when he was able to make passable
renderings of them. He went to College at nine, and
was informed that there was no room in the HaU, it
being filled by a classical examination, and that he
must go into a side room near the kitchens. His tutor
led him to the room, which was the duplicate, skylight
and all, of the one he had seen in his dream. The
tutor took from his breast pocket a long envelope, and
from it drew out several sheets of green paper similar
to that of the dream, and gave Budge the examination
paper for that morning, saying that it was green
because Sayce, on account of delicate eyesight, was
obliged to use green paper when writing cuneiform.
The tutor then turned, said he would come back at
twelve, and, going out, locked the door behind him
as Budge saw him do in the dream. When he sat down
at the table and looked at the paper he saw written on
it the questions and four pieces of text for translation,
and the texts were line for line those which he had seen
in his dream. Surprise at his good fortune prevented
him from writing steadily, but at length he got to work
and had finished the paper before the tutor appeared
and unlocked the door at noon. The three other papers
were easier, and Budge got the exhibition — ^for him
a very vital matter.

I asked Budge if he could explain the matter, or
account for it in any way, and he said, ‘ No. My mother
and maternal grandmother both had dreams of this sort
from time to time when they were in any kind of diffi-
culty, and in their dreams they were either shown what
to do or were in some way helped. Being very pious
folk, they regarded these dreams as the work of Divine
Providence, who wished for some reason to help them
out of trouble or difficulty. For myself, I could never

36 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

imagine Providence troubling about any examination,
but I was quite overcome for a time with astonishment
at my good luck.’

There is one story. Let the reader make of it what
he can, for it is beyond my powers of interpretation.

In the second story Budge was only indirectly
concerned. He was at Cairo waiting for a boat to
England, and he was wandering down Kamil Street
when two ladies, mother and daughter, stopped him
and greeted him with warmth and affection. They
had been telegraphing to several places in the Sudan
to find him, and were glad to meet him. Budge had
known both mother and daughter for several yearn,
and asked them if they wanted to go to the Egyptian
Museum. The daughter said 'Yes.’ The mother said
‘ No,’ and then went on to teU him that she wanted to
have her fortune told by a reaUy good Egyptian fortune-
teller. There was such a man in Cairo at the time, and
Budge had talked astral lore and zodiacal influences
and such stuff with him, and went and found him and
introduced him to the lady. A retired quarter of
a balcony was found, and the three of them. Budge
and the two women, sat on chairs, while the native —
a Parsi, by the way — squatted on the ground. Budge
told him that his gratuity would depend on the ex-
cellence of the fortune he brought to the lady. He
took out of his bosom a small brass astrolabe — ^which
Budge has to this day — and a turquoise tablet with
figures of the planets, etc., on it, when Budge said,

' Put those away and read the lady’s fortune from her
face.’ He put them away, and sat and looked steadily
into the lady’s face. Presently he said, ‘ Madame is

years, months, and days old,’ and his

statement was correct. Next he said, ‘ Madame has
been iU since her husband died.’ Budge did not know

‘ERIC’ AND ‘NADA’ 37

of the death, but the man was correct. After a pause he
said, ‘ Madame drinks too much strong water.’ Budge
was furious, but the lady said, ‘ It is true : I tried to
drown my sorrow.’ Another pause, and then, ‘ Madame
is thinking of making a contract about a house. I see
the house in a very large garden. Let not madame take
that house, for if she does she will lose money, wiU
become ill in it, very iU.’ Budge asked the lady if this
was true, and she said, ‘ Yes ; I have the lawyer’s
letter in my pocket,’ and produced it. At this point
Budge insisted on withdrawing out of earshot of the
conversation between the fortune-teller and the lady,
and sat where he could watch the proceedings. After
a full half-hour the lady jumped up from her chair,
turned the contents of her money-bag into the man’s
lap, and then rushed in almost speechless fury to
where Budge was and upbraided him and called him
a false friend. She said words to this effect : ‘ You
have told that man everything about my life, and you
are in league with him. You are both blackguards,
and I will never speak to you or see you again. That
scoundrel has insulted me, and he dared to tell me to
watch my daughter, because she would poison me and
kill me. That shows what you are 1 ’ The lady rushed
off to her rooms, and Budge never saw her again.

The end of the story as Budge gave it to me is this ;
The lady took the house, which was large and in a
fashionable West End quarter, spent a good deal of
money on the lease and in furniture, and then fell
seriously ill. The illness increased, the doctors ordered
her to the seaside, and the house was sold at a great
loss, and much of the furniture. Her illness increased,
and one night, when in acute pain, she asked her
daughter to give her a dose of medicine containing
morphia because she could not rest. The daughter

38 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

took up the small bottle which her mother pointed out
to her and, seeing no instructions written upon the
label, poured the whole of its contents into a glass and
gave it to her. The sick lady, dazed with pain, took
the glass and drank all that was in it. She never spoke
or moved again. Reports of the proceedings which
took place appeared in many papers, and the absence
of instructions on the label of the bottle was somehow
explained.

There is the story, and I leave the reader to ponder
over it.^

^ I have Sir E. W. Budge’s permission to say that he has seen and consents
to the publication of the above stories. — Ed.

CHAPTER XIV

MEXICO

J. Gladwyn Jebb — His character — Mr. and Mrs. H. R. H. visit him in Mexico
— Death of their only son while absent — New York on way to Mexico —
Reporters — Their loyalty to each other — Mexico City — Don Anselmo —
Golden Head of Montezuma — Treasure hunt — Zumpango — Journey to
silver mine — Chiapas — Vera Cruz — Frontera — Millions of mosquitoes —
A mule load of silver — Attempt of robbers to steal it — Silver mine —
Tarantulas — Mishap on journey back — Return to England.

During the year 1889 I made the acquaintance of my
late friend J. Gladwyn Jebb, one of the most delightful
persons whom I have ever known. Some irony of fate
brought it about that Jebb should devote his life to
the pursuit of mining and commercial ventures — a
career for which he was utterly unsuited. The result
may be imagined : he worked very hard in many
evil climates, broke down his health, dissipated his
large private means in supporting unremunerative
enterprises, and died saddened and impoverished.

I have described his character in my introduction
to ' The Life and Adventures of J. G. Jebb,' by his
widow, from which I quote a short passage.

In the city of Mexico, where business men are — ^business
men, he was respected universally, and by the Indians he was
adored. ‘ He is a good man, Jebb,’ said an honourable old
Jewish trader of that city to me — ‘ a man among a thousand,
whom I would trust anywhere. See, I will prove it to you,
amigo : he has hved in this town doing business for years,

40 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

yet, with all his opportunities, he leaves it -poor&r than he came
here. Did you ever hear the like of that, amigo ? '

Would that there existed more of such noble failures
— ^the ignoble are sufficiently abundant — for then the
world might be cleaner than it is. It matters little
now : his day is done, and he has journeyed to that
wonderful Hereafter of which during life he had so
clear a vision, and that was so often the subject of his
delightful and suggestive talk. But his record remains,
the record of a brave and generous man who, as
I firmly believe, never did, never even contemplated,
a mean or doubtful act. To those who knew him and
have lost sight of him there remain also a bright and
chivahous example and the memory of a most perfect
gentleman.

Unfortunately for m37self, a connection in the City
had introduced me to certain Mexican enterprises in
which he was concerned that in due course absorbed
no small sum out of my hard earnings. Also he intro-
duced me to Jebb, which good deed I set against the
matter of the unlucky investments.

Jebb urged me to come to Mexico and write a novel
about Montezuma, both of which things I did in due
course ; also as a bait he told me a wonderful and, as
I believe, perfectly true tale of hidden treasure which
we were to proceed to dig up together. Of this treasure
I will write hereafter.

Jebb and Mrs. Jebb returned to Mexico during the
year 1890, where my wife and I made arrangements to
visit them at the commencement of 1891.

And now I come to a very sad and terrible event
that pierced me with a sudden thrust which has left
my heart bleeding to this day. Yes, still it bleeds,
nor wiU the issue of its blood be stayed till, as he passes

MEXICO 41

by, I touch the healing robes of Death. I refer to the
death of my only son.

This child — ^he was just under ten when he died —
possessed a nature of singular sweetness, so sweet that
its very existence should have and indeed did warn
me of what fate held in store for us. So far as my
experience goes, children who bring with them to the
earth this twilight glow of the bright day in which
perchance they dwelt elsewhere, who wear upon their
brows this visible halo of an unnatural charm and
goodness, rarely remain to bless it long. That which
sent them forth soon calls them back again. And yet,
could we but understand, their short lives may not
lack fruit. Through their influence on others they
may still work on the world they left.

My son Rider — ^he was by his own wish called Jock,
to avoid confusion between us — was such a child as this.
I can never remember his doing what he should not,
save once when he teased his little sisters by refusing
to allow them to come out of a place where he had
prisoned them, and for his pains had the only scolding
I ever gave him. Yet he was no milksop or ‘ mother’s
darling.’ He bore pain well, would ride any horse on
which he could climb, and even while he was still in
frocks I have known him attack with his httle fists
someone who made pretence to strike me. He was
an imaginative child. One example will suffice. We
left London on our holiday : it was the year in which
I wrote ‘ Allan Quatermain.’ When we drove from
the station to the farm the full moon shone in the
summer sky. ‘ Look, dad,' he said, pointing to it,
‘ there is God’s lamp ! ’

The boy was beloved by everyone who knew him,
and in turn loved all about him, but especially his
mother and myself. How much I, to whom all my

42 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

children are so dear, loved, or rather love, him I cannot
tell. He was my darling ; for him I would gladly have
laid down my life.

It is strange, but when I went to Mexico I knew,
almost without doubt, that in this world he and I
would never see each other more. Only I thought
it was I who was doomed to die. Otherwise it is plain
that I should never have started on that journey.
With this surety in my heart — ^it was with me for
weeks before we sailed — the parting was bitter indeed.
The boy was to stay with friends, the Gosses. I bade
him good-bye and tore myself away. I returned after
some hours. A chance, I forget what, had prevented
the servant, a tall dark woman whose name is lost
to me, from starting with him to Delamere Crescent till
later than was expected. He was still in my study —
about to go. Once more I went through that agony
of a separation which I knew to be the last. With
a cheerful face I kissed him — I remember how he flung
his arms about my neck — ^in a cheerful voice I blessed
him and bade him farewell, promising to write. Then
he went through the door and it was finished. I think
I wept.

I said nothing of this secret foreknowledge of mine,
nor did I attempt to turn from the road that I had
chosen because I was aware of what awaited me thereon.
Only I made every possible preparation for my death —
even to seahng up all important papers in a despatch-
box and depositing them in Messrs. Gosling’s Bank,
where I knew they would be at once available.

But alas ! my spirit saw imperfectly. Or perhaps
knowing only that Death stood between us, I jumped
to the conclusion that it was on me of an older genera-
tion that his hand would fall, on me who was about to
undertake a journey which I guessed to be dangerous.

MEXICO 43

including as it did a visit to the ruins of Palenque,
whither at the time few travellers ventured. It never
occurred to me that he was waiting for my son.

About six weeks later — ^for I may as well tell the
story out and be done with it — that hand fell. My
presentiments had returned to me with terrible strength
and persistence. One Sunday morning in the Jebbs’
house in Mexico City, as we were preparing to go to
church, they were fulfilled. Mrs. Jebb called us to
their bedroom. She had a paper in her hand. ' Some-
thing is wrong with one of your children,’ she said
brokenly. ^ Which ? ’ I asked, aware that this meant
death, no less, and waited. ‘Jock,’ was the reply, and
the dreadful telegram, our first intimation of his illness,
was read. It said that he had ‘ passed away peace-
fully ’ some few hours before. There were no details
or explanations.

Then in truth I descended into hell. Of the suffer-
ings of the poor mother I will not speak. They belong
to her alone.

I can see the room now. Jebb weeping by the
unmade bed, the used basins — all, all. And in the
midst of it myself — ^with a broken heart ! Were I a
living man when these words are read — ^why, it would
be wrong that I should rend the veil, I who never speak
of this matter, who never even let that dear name pass
my lips. But they will not be read till I, too, am
gone and have learned whatever there is to know.
Perhaps also the tale has its lessons. At any rate it is
a page in my history that cannot be omitted, though
it be tom from the living heart and, some may think,
too sad to dwell on.

This morning, not an hour since, I stood by my
son’s grave and read what I had carved upon his cross :

‘ I shall go to him.’ Now that I am growing old these

44 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

words are full of comfort and meaning to me. Soon,
after all these long years of separation, I shall go to
him and put my faith to proof. If it be true, as
I believe, then surely my spirit will find his spirit,
though it must search from world to world. If, with
all earth’s suffering millions, I am deluded, then let
the same everlasting darkness be our bed and canopy.

On my return from Mexico I wrote a romance called
‘ Montezuma’s Daughter.’ In this tale the teller loses
his children, and I put into his mouth what myself
I felt. Here are the words : I cannot better them
after all these years, and they are as true to me now
as they were then.

Ah ! we til ink- much of the sorrows of our youth, and should
a sweetheart give us the go-by, we fill the world with moans
and swear that it holds no comfort for us. But when we bend
our heads before the shrouded shape of some lost child, then
it is that for the first time we learn how terrible grief can be.
Time, they tell us, will bring consolation ; but it is false : for
such sorrow time has no salves. I say it who am old — as they
are so shall they be. There is no hope but faith, there is no
comfort save in the truth that love which might have withered
on the earth grows fastest in the tomb, to flower gloriously in
heaven ; that no love indeed can be perfect tiU God sanctifies
and completes it with His seal of death.

I wrote just now that, for reasons I hope to set
out later in this book, I believed my faith, which
amongst other things promises reunion of the death-
divided, to be a true faith. Indeed, if it be otherwise,
what a hell is this in which we live. Thrusting from
the memory all other trials and sorrows, not for any
finite earthly life that could be promised me would
I endure again from year to year the agony I have
suffered on the one count of this bereavement, which
is, after all, so common and everyday a thing. If ever,

MEXICO 45

in some dread hour, faith in aU its forms should be
proved a dream and mockery, surely in the same hour
will sound the death-knell of all that is best in the
educated world. Brutes which guess of nothing better
can live happy till the butcher finds them : men who
believe can endure till God consoles or calls them.
But will the much-developed man whose heart-strings,
like those of the Aeolian harp, must thrill and sob in
every wind of pain — will he continue to endure if once
he is assured that beneath the precipice from which he
will presently be hurled there is — Nothing ? Knowing
all they must be called upon to suffer at the best, will
he breed children, perhaps to see them thrown from
the stark cliff before his eyes and there to cease to be
for ever ? (The case of France, where I believe faith
grows very weak, seems to give answer to this ques-
tion. Yesterday I read that in that country during
1911 the deaths exceeded the births by over thirty
thousand. My conviction is that, unless faith returns
to her in some form, as a nation France is doomed.
She will fall as Rome fell, and from the same cause.)

In short, I hold that God and a belief in a future
life where there is no more pain and tears are wiped
from off all faces are necessities to civilised and thought-
ful man, and that without them, slowly perhaps, but
surely, he will cease to be. He will commit suicide
when Fortune frowns, as did the Roman who had
outgrown his gods ; he wiU refuse to propagate his
kind, as do the French. Why should he breed them
to be the bread of Death ?

Such are the conclusions at which I have arrived
after many years of reflection which began at the time
of my great grief. They may be right or they may be
wrong ; that the future history of the white races will
reveal. At least I believe in them. Nor do I believe

46 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

alone. But yesterday I was speaking on these matters
to a bishop of the English Church, a very able and
enlightened man. I found that my views were his
views, and my conclusions his conclusions. Also he
thought, as I do, that many of our present troubles,
industrial and other, arise from the loss of faith among
men. The feast of Life, such as it is, is spread before
their eyes. They would help themselves to the meagre
and bitter fare they see, and who can wonder ? ‘ Let

us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die.’

To return to the sorrow which gave rise to these
reflections. I staggered from the room ; I wrote a
cable directing that the burial should take place by
the chancel door of Ditchingham Church, where now
he lies. Afterwards I took up a Bible and opened it
at hazard. The words that my eyes fell on were :
‘ Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them
not.’ The strange chance seemed to cheer me a little.
That afternoon I went for a walk in the great avenue.
Never shall I forget that walk among the gay and
fashionable Mexicans. I did not know till then what
a man can endure and live.

Now I have come to understand that this woe has
two sides. If he had lived who knows what might
have chanced to him ? And the holy love which was
between us, might it not have faded after the fashion
of this world ? As things are it remains an unchange-
able, perfect, and eternal thing. Further, notwith-
standing aU, I am glad that he lived with us for those
few years. His sufferings were short ; his little life
was happy while it endured ; he went, I believe, quite
sinless from the world ; and, lastly, I believe that the
soul which has been, is and will be.^

^ My son died suddenly of a perforating ulcer after an attack of measles.
Perhaps surgery could have saved him to-day. — H. R. H.

MEXICO 47

As for myself, I was crushed ; my nerves broke
down entirely, and the rest of the Mexican visit, with
its rough journeyings, is to me a kind of nightmare.
Not for many years did I shake off the effects of the
shock ; indeed I have never done so altogether. It
has left me with a heritage of apprehensions, not for
myself personally — I am content to take what comes —
but for others. My health gave out. I left London,
which I could no longer bear, and hid myself away
here in the country. The other day I found a letter of
this period, sent to me as an enclosure on some matter,
in which the writer speaks of me as being ' quite
unapproachable since the death of his only son.’ So,
indeed, I think I was. Moreover, at this time the
influenza attacked me again and again, and left me
very weak.

We did not come home at once — ^what was the good
of returning to the desolated home ? Our boy had
died in a strange house and been brought to Ditching-
ham for burial. What was the good of returning
home ? So there, far away, in due course letters
reached us with these dreadful details and heart-
piercing messages of farewell.

And now I have done with this terrible episode
and will get me to my tale again. The wound has
been seared by time — ^few, perhaps none, would guess
that it existed ; but it wiU never heal. I think I may
say that from then till now no day has passed, and
often no hour, when the thought of my lost boy has
not been present with me. I can only bow my head
and murmur, ‘ God’s will be done ! ’

I remember reading in one of R. L. Stevenson’s
published letters, written after he had helped to nurse
a sick child, that nothing would induce him to become
a father, for fear, I gathered, lest one day he might

48 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

be called on to nurse his own sick child. I can well
understand the effect of the experience on a highly
sensitive nature, and, as a matter of fact, he died
childless. Yet, as I read, I wondered what he would
have felt had such a lightning shaft as fell upon my
head from heaven smitten and shattered him.

Perhaps, being frail, he would have died. But
I was tougher, and lived on. More : I went among
murderers and escaped ; I wandered into the fever
lands, and never took it ; the brute I rode fell in
a flooded river, and I did not drown ; I was in peril
on the sea, and came safe to shore. It was decreed
that I should live on.

On our arrival at New York on our W'ay to Mexico,
on January lo, 1891, I was seized upon by numbers
of reporters. Now the single reporter may be dealt
with, preferably by making him talk about himself,
which is a subject far more interesting to him than
you are ; or he may be persuaded to tell you about
the last person or subject upon which he has had to
report. Thus, on a subsequent occasion, a reporter
came on board the ship to see me before she reached
her berth. Early as it was in the morning, he had
already been about his paper’s business, attending the
electrocution of two men in a prison ! The sight had
impressed even his hardy nerves sufficiently to make
him talk a great deal about it, describing all its details.
Therefore I was called upon to furnish him with but
little information about myself, though probably this
was not a fact that weighed on him when it came to
the writing of the interview.

Another man, who caught me in a railway train,
grew so interested in talking of his own affairs that he
never noticed that the train had started till it was
rtmning at quite twenty miles the hour. Then with

MEXICO 49

a yell he rushed down the carriage and leapt out into
the night. I have always wondered whether he was
killed or only broke his leg.

There is nothing that an American reporter wiU not
do to attain his ends. For instance, I have known them
to break into my room at midnight when I was in bed.

Once, when I was in America as a Commissioner,
the reporter of a great paper did his best to make
me express opinions on some important matter con-
nected with the internal policy of the United States.
Naturally I declined, but this did not prevent my
alleged views upon the question from appearing every-
where. Then followed leading articles in some of the
best papers gravely lecturing me and pointing out
how improper it was that one who had been received
with so much courtesy, and who occupied a diplomatic
position, should publicly intervene in the domestic
affairs of the country to which he had been sent by his
Government. A famous comic journal, also, pubhshed
a cartoon of me in a pulpit engaged in lecturing the
American people.

Needless to say, I was extremely annoyed, but of
redress I could obtain none. Contradiction where the
country is so vast and newspapers are so many is
hopeless. However, when I was leaving New York
another representative of the same great paper came
to interview me on the steamer, and to him I expressed
my feelings. He listened ; then replied, with a some-
what sickly smile, ' Very annoying, Mr. Haggard, but
I guess it would be scarcely loyal of me to give our
man away, would it ? '

Nothing could exceed the kindness with which we
were received in the United States — even the reporters
were kind till it came to cold print. Really I think
that Americans are the most hospitable people in the

50 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

world. I wiU go further and say that nobody is so
nice or S5nnpathetic or broad-minded or desirous of
aU good as a really first-class American, man or woman.
I remember that on the occasion of this visit we were
quite glad to escape from New York, where literally
we were being killed with kindness. To feast with
some hospitable host at every meal, from breakfast
till a midnight supper, after a week or so becomes
more than the human frame can bear.

From New York we went to the beautiful city of
New Orleans, where also we were widely entertained.
One dinner-party I shall never forget. Upon each
napkin lay a little poem anent something I had written.
For instance, here is one which evidently refers to
‘ The World’s Desire ’ :

Upon thy breast the ‘ bleeding Star ’ of love,
Etherealised, and freed from serpent taint.

Is all afire, 0 burnished dove !

For whom men fail and faint !

Moreover, in the middle of dinner someone — I think
it was our hostess — rose and read a poem at me.
Though very kindly meant, it was really most em-
barrassing, especially as I had no poem ready with
which to reply.

In New Orleans, amongst other places of much
interest, I was shown a park in which duels used to
be fought in the early days, and a graveyard where,
because of the water in the soil, the dead are buried in
niches in the surrounding walls.

Leaving that most hospitable city, we travelled on
to El Paso, then quite a small town on the Mexican
border. I remember that in the train I fell into con-
versation vrith a gentleman who, much to my astonish-
ment, informed me that in the future we should tele-

MEXICO 51

graph through the air without the use of any connecting
wires, and furnished me with the details of how this
would be done. At the time I confess it occurred to
me that he was amusing himself by gammoning a
stranger who was known to write romances. Now,
however, I see that at the commencement of the year
1891 there was at any rate one person who was very
well acquainted with the system of wireless telegraphy
which is now identified with the name of Mr. Marconi,
then a lad of sixteen years of age.

There were at this time two railway lines running
from the States to Mexico City, and I recollect that we
hesitated long by which of them we should travel.
Our choice was fortunate, since the train which left
on the same day by the other line met with many
adventures. Amongst other things it was twice thrown
off the rails by intelligent Mexicans actuated either
by spite or the hope of plunder, and some of its
occupants were killed. Mexico, even in those days,
was a wonderful city of almost Parisian appearance ;
but I confess that what interested me more than its
tramways and fine modern buildings were such relics
of old Mexico as could be seen in the museum and
elsewhere, and the mighty volcano of Popocatepetl,
which the Aztecs feared and worshipped, towering to
the skies. The cathedral also, built by the early
Spanish conquerors, is a remarkable church, though,
owing to the rarity of the air at that height above
sea-level, I should not recommend any visitor who has
doubts as to the condition of his heart to follow our
example and climb to the top of its tower.

I think I mentioned that the original cause of my
visit to Mexico was the tale of a certain hidden treasure
which appealed to all my romantic instincts. This
was the story so far as I can recollect it.

THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

In Mexico Mr. Jebb knew a certain Cuban called
Don Anselmo. This man, who was a geologist, was
prying about on the farther shore of Lake Tezcuco,
when a Mexican emerged from some bushes and
remarked that he saw that Anselmo knew the secret
which he thought belonged to himself alone. Anselmo,
being no fool, pumped him, and out came the story.
It appears that an aged cacique confided to the Mexican
the plans and inventory of that portion of the treasure
of the Aztecs which was recaptured from the Spaniards
in the disaster of the Noche triste. This inventory set
out a list of eighteen large jars of gold, either in the
form of ornaments or dust, several jars full of precious
stones, much arms and armour, also of gold, and
lastly a great golden head more than life-size, being
a portrait of the Emperor Montezuma. The plan
showed where and how all this wealth had been dis-
posed of in a pit sixty feet deep, at the bottom of
which was a great rock covered with Aztec writing.
The mouth of this pit was on the land where Anselmo
was pursuing his geological researches, and marked by
two ancient trees planted near to it by the Aztecs when
they buried the treasure.

The only stipulation made by the old cacique when
he revealed the secret, which came straight down to
him from his forefather who had helped Guatemoc to
bury the treasure, was that it should never be given
up to Government or to any Spaniard.

Needless to say, the Mexican and Don Anselmo
entered into a partnership. Anselmo tried to raise
funds to buy the property. Failing in this, he got
the leave of the proprietor to prospect for sulphur, and,
with some others, began to dig at the spot indicated
on the plan. All went well. The Mexican kept away
native loungers by announcing that devils dwelt in the

MEXICO 53

hole. The pit was cleared out, and at the depth of
sixty feet was found the great stone, on which was cut
an owl, the crest or totem mark of Guatemoc. Un-
fortunately, just at this time the excavators were
advised that the property had been sold to a new
owner, who was coming to inspect it. All night long
they worked furiously at the stone, which at last they
destroyed with d 3 niamite. A tunnel was revealed
beyond, running at right angles into the side of the
hill , till some steps were reached that mounted upwards.
On one of these steps lay the copper head of a spear.
At the top of them, however, was a very solid waU of
some hard material which had been fused by heat.

The excavators retreated, baffled by lack of time
and this impenetrable wall. They filled in the shaft,
hurling down it the boles of the two trees that
Guatemoc had planted, and ran before the new owner
arrived, announcing that they had found no sulphur.

Ultimately Anselmo approached Mr. Jebb, who was
known to have influence with the member, or ex-
member, of the Government who had acquired the
property. From him Jebb obtained permission to dig
for antiquities on his estate. I remember the arrival
of the formal letter of leave, but not what stipulations
were made as to the disposal of any articles that might
be found. Full of hope that it would fall to our lot
to discover the golden head of Montezuma and the
jars of treasure and of jewels, with the help of Senor
Anselmo we were making our preparations once more
to clear that shaft when the terrible news of which
I have spoken arrived. After its receipt I had no
heart to enter upon the adventure.

A year or so later Jebb returned to Mexico to find,
I think, that the Mexican concerned was dead and
that Anselmo had vanished, none knew where. It was

54 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

suggested that he had been murdered by Indians who
knew that he held the secret of their ancient wealth.
But whether this was so or not I cannot say.

The site of the shaft is, I suppose, now lost, although
of course some of the peons that assisted in the clearing
of the pit may remember its whereabouts, if they
stiU live. I understand, however, that only Anselmo
and the Mexican actually destroyed the covering stone
engraved with an owl and explored the passage and
flight of steps beyond. The peons probably thought
that they were reaUy digging for sulphur without the
permission of the proprietor of the land.

The story as it stands is, I admit, like most such
stories, rather vague, but for my part I believe, as did
the late Mr. Jebb, that Montezuma's treasure or a
large part of it remains buried in this place. That it
is buried somewhere is not to be doubted, for the
Spaniards never recovered what was lost in the rout
of the Noche triste. Indeed, my impression is, although
I cannot verify this without rereading all the old
chroniclers, that they put many Indians to the torture,
including Guatemoc himself, as I have described in
‘Montezuma’s Daughter,’ in order to force them to
reveal its hiding-place. However this may be, I doubt
whether the golden head of Montezuma and the jewels
which he wore will ever again see the light of day.
The Aztecs buried them deeply, having time at their
disposal ; no plough or surface excavation will reveal
them, and the place of their sepulture is lost. And this
must anyhow be pleasing to the shade of the heroic
Guatemoc.

By a little stretch of the imagination one might
almost fancy that this hoard still lies under the pro-
tection of the evil Aztec gods, of one of which 1 will
now tell the story.

MEXICO 55

Shortly before I went to Mexico, in the course of
some drainage works which were then being begun at
a distance from the city — I think the place was called
Zumpango, but of this I am not sure — a peculiarly
hideous idol was discovered. It was grey in colour,
but, if I remember rightly, more or less blotched with
pink, and its head was sunk almost between the
shoulders, while I can only describe the face as devilish.
On its disinterment it is a fact that the Indians of the
neighbourhood identified it at once, by the tradition
which had descended from father to son among them,
as a slaughter-idol of the Aztecs which had been buried
at this spot to save it from destruction by the Spaniards
in the time of Cortes, and there remained in seclusion
until the year 1890. Its resurrection is said to have
occasioned great excitement among them.

One of the old chroniclers — I think it is Bernal
Diaz— describes the finding of the Place of Sacrifice
over which this idol presided. If I recollect aright
he says that they saw a pole from the top of which the
idol itself had been removed, and that the said pole
was built aU round with the skulls of human victims
whose hearts had been tom out as an offering to it.
In short, the pedigree of the thing seems to be weU
authenticated. As Mrs. Jebb describes in the Life of
her husband, Jebb, an ardent collector of curiosities,
was very anxious to obtain this blood-stained rehc,
which he offered to buy at no mean price. The finder,
however, could not be tempted to part with it, and there
the matter remained. One day, however, to Jebb’s
great astonishment, the idol arrived on the back of
a native, unaccompanied by any note or word of
explanation, and was deposited in his flat in the city
of Mexico, where he found it on his return home.
When I visited him very shortly afterwards one of the

56 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

first things that I saw in the house was this iU-omened
ef&gy of Huitzilpotchli, or whatever god it represented,
grinning a welcome across the patio. Now by some
strange chance from that moment forward, as Mrs. Jebb
tells, everything went wrong with her husband’s affairs.
His health broke, companies with which he was con-
nected coUapsed, mines proved unpayable, and, lastly,
he sold a reversionary interest in a considerable sum
for a third of its value on the very day before the life-
tenant died ! Such were some, but by no means all,
of the catastrophes that overwhelmed him, which cause
one to wonder for what exact reason the finder had
parted gratis with this peculiar treasure for which
shortly before he had refused good gold.

One of the places in which we stayed in Mexico was
a huge hacienda situated by a lake. This vast house
had once been a monastery, and the great chamber in
which we slept was still hung round with the portraits
of iU-favoured abbots, A feature of the house con-
sisted of its almost endless cemented roofs, on which we
used to walk. It was tenanted by the two bachelor
stewards of the great estate, who kept mastiff dogs to
guard them at night, friendly creatures enough when
once mutual confidence had been established. Alto-
gether that hacienda was not a cheerful residence to
my mind, although the wild-fowl shooting on the lake
was excellent and the farming operations that were
carried on interested me much.

Shortly after the receipt of the desolating news of
which I have written, in order to try to occupy our
minds we made an expedition to a place called Pinal
among the mountains, where, with Mr. Jebb, we were
the guests of a gentleman named Stockdale who had
charge of a silver mine in which Jebb was interested.
It was a spot of extraordinary loveliness, with its deep

MEXICO 57

valleys and pine-clad heights, but the journey there
on horseback was very rough. Sometimes the road
ran along the dry bed of a river, where the animals
stumbled from stone to stone, while at others it wended
on the edge of precipices. Down one of these preci-
pices I nearly disappeared, for my horse, a wooden
brute, took the opportunity to fall at a spot where the
two-foot-wide path had been washed away by rain, in
such a fashion that his front legs were on one side of the
gap and his hind part on the other. How I escaped
I am sure I do not know. Mr. Stockdale used to gallop
along these paths, although once he and his horse fell
over the edge and were saved only by being caught in
the flat top of a thick thorn tree. He laughed at my
dishke of them. A while afterwards I heard that he
had fallen from such a path and been dashed to pieces.
He was a young Englishman of the best sort, one of that
gallant breed whose bones whiten every quarter of the
earth.

The traveller on these mountain paths in Mexico
will notice many wooden crosses set up against the
rocky walls. Each of these shows that here a death
has occurred, sometimes by accident, more fre-
quently by murder, which amongst these half-savage
and half-bred people — the product, many of them, of
intercourse between the Spaniard and the Indian — ^is
or used to be of common occurrence. (Now I observe
that under the name of Revolution the Mexicans are
butchering each other wholesale in the hope of securing
the plunder of the State, which has grown wealthy
under the rule of the fugitive Diaz.)

I remember that we reached Pinal on a Saturday,
the night on which the peons get drunk on mescal and
aqua ardiente and fight over gambling and women.
On the Sunday morning I walked down the street of

58 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

the village, where I saw two men lying dead with
blankets thrown over them. A third, literally hacked
to pieces by machetes, was seated in a collapsed condi-
tion in a doorway, while the village barber tried to
sew up his hideous wounds. I do not know what
became of him. Such was the Mexico of those days.

One of the towns that we visited on this journey
was a place named Queretaro, with a plaza where the
band played, for all the Mexicans are musical, and the
young people walked about in the evening. I felt so
iU there that I thought I must be going to die ; but
a travelling American doctor whom I met in the place,
and who, good fellow that he was, kindly examined
me, told me that I was suffering from nothing except
shock to the nerves.

At Queretaro I was taken up a hill and shown the
waU against which the unhappy Emperor Maximilian
had been butchered some five-and-twenty years before.
In this town, as in most others in Mexico, the church
bells seemed to riiig continually, as I was informed, to
frighten- away the devils, of whom there must in truth
be many in that land — ^if devils exist anywhere outside
the human heart.

We made some part of the return journey from
Pinal in a kind of diligence that we hired. It was
reported that brigands were active in the country
through which we had to pass, and therefore we were
not best pleased when a fat Mexican, who was convoy-
ing a huge mass of pure silver from some mine, insisted
upon joining our party. When asked why he was so
determined upon the point, he answered : ‘ Oh ! I have
silver ; in front hide brigands. You are Englishmen,
and the English will always fight ! ’ However, we saw
nothing of these brigands, perhaps because of the
warlike reputation of our race.

MEXICO 59

On our return to Mexico City I undertook a longer
journey to the State of Chiapas, then rarely visited by
Europeans, where Jebb was interested in a certain mine,
in which, to my sorrow, I had shares. The original
arrangement was that we were to have travelled to the
marvellous ruins of Palenque, which were built by
some pre-Aztec race. But this was given up for the
same reason that we gave up digging for Montezuma’s
treasure. In place of it it was settled that Jebb and
I should make the journey to the Chiapas mine and,
returning thence at a certain date, meet our wives on
the New York steamer off the port of Frontera, where
she called, and thence proceed with them to the States
and England. Of course it miscarried, as most things
do, or did, in Mexico, as I shall teU presently. Indeed,
as I can see now, the whole expedition was of a some-
what crack-brained order, but at the time I cared little
what I did.

Jebb and I proceeded from Mexico to Vera Cruz by
the wonderful railway which winds from the 7000 feet
high tableland, past the glorious mountain of Orizaba
to the coast. Then the train only ran in the day-time
in charge of an armed guard, for fear of brigands who
could be relied upon to throw it off the line at night.
I recall one town or village which we passed where
there were, I think, thirteen churches and twelve
houses, or so I was told. The churches were said to
have all been built by successful brigand captains when
they retired from business in the neighbourhood in
order to expiate their not inconsiderable crimes. By
the way, I think it was on my journey to Pinal that
I passed through a place of some size where we saw
only a few suUen old men and some women and children.
The rest of the male population had recently been killed
out by the mrales, or mounted guards, I forget for what

6o THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

cause. Indeed all my recollections of Mexico are some-
what fragmentary, for at the time I made no notes of
my experiences, and after a lapse of over twenty years
the memory is apt to retain only such occurrences and
scenes as struck it with peculiar force.

At Vera Cruz, a beautiful but, at that time, un-
wholesome town, for yellow fever was still prevalent
there and the vultures were the chief safeguards of the
public health (they sat on the scavengers' carts as these
went their rounds), we caught the steamer which was
to land us at Frontera. I had left Mexico City with the
worst cold I ever experienced, contracted originally
through my folly in opening the window of a stifling
PuUman car, not knowing that we were to run over
high mountains in the night. It was so bad that I had
to pull my eyelids open in the morning, and even my
ears were stopped up ; nor could I shake it off in the
piercing atmosphere of the central Mexican tableland.
The mild and beautiful climate of the coast, however,
acted on me like magic, and before I had been twelve
hours at sea I was almost well again.

On the day after leaving Vera Cruz we reached
Frontera, at the mouth of a great stream that I
think was named the Tobasco River. Frontera was
a village with a long wide street of which the popula-
tion appeared to me to show many traces of white
blood. It was a horrible hole. The inn, if it could
so be called, in which we slept, if I remember right,
stood partly on piles in the water like a lake dwelling ;
in the garden or yard great hogs rummaged, while
vultures sat upon the railing of the verandah. Mos-
quitoes buzzed about by millions, and the face of the
boy who waited on us was covered with open sores,
resulting, I was told, from fever. Many of the children,
also, were fever-stricken, since here malaria seemed to

MEXICO 6i

have a favourite home. Only the great river, with its
palm-clad banks, was beautiful.

On the following day we started up this river, lying
in a canoe towed by a naphtha launch, in which canoe
we slept, or tried to sleep, all night. Never in all my
hfe — ^no, not even at Tiberias on the Sea of Galilee —
did I meet with so many or such ferocious mosquitoes !
I tied my trousers and my sleeves round my ankles
and wrists with string, but they bit through the cloth,
and when I looked in the morning where the dogskin
gloves ended on the wrists were great bracelets of
white bumps. Then there were little grey flies called
gehenn, or some such name, which were worse than the
mosquitoes, since the effect of their bites lasted for
days, and, when one went ashore, garrapatas or tiny
ticks that buried themselves in the flesh and, if
removed, left their heads behind them. Perhaps these
were the greatest torments of the three. Altogether
the banks of the Tobasco River cannot be recom-
mended as a place of residence.

In due course we arrived at a town called St. Juan
Bautista, where we stopped for a night or two with
some Mexicans who had an interest in the mine we
were to visit. They were kind in their way, but what
I chiefly recollect about the place are the remains of
an ox that had been slaughtered within a yard or two
of the verandah, just beyond a beautiful Hibiscus bush
in flower, and some soup composed apparently of oil
in which hvid cockscombs bobbed up and down.
Thence we proceeded up the river in the naphtha
launch, of which the machinery continually broke
down. This was the pleasantest part of the journey.

At length, leaving the launch, we came to a village
of which the name escapes me, a straggling place
whereof the central street was paved with rough

62 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

cobbles. Here we slept in a house belonging to some
lady who was a great personage in the village, and
beautifully situated upon a cliE at the foot of which ran
a sparkling river that reminded me of a salmon stream
in Scotland. Here also Jebb and I very narrowly
escaped being murdered. It came about thus :

We had in our charge a mule-load of silver of the
value of three thousand dollars, which we were con-
veying to a mine whither went more bullion than ever
came out of it. The knowledge of our possession of
this treasure came to the ears of the inhabitants of the
place, among whom were a goodly proportion of
brigands and cut-throats and, as we discovered after-
wards, some of these made a plot to kill us and steal
the silver. It happened that Jebb and I were alone
in the house of which I have spoken,, save, I think, for
the widow lady and one or two Indian servants who
slept in a different part of the big place. Our rooms
(mine was half filled with Indian corn) were at either
end of a large eating-chamber which overlooked the
valley. They were fitted with latchless or broken
French windows. The plan of attack was, as someone
confessed afterwards, to climb up a sloping wall built
of loose stones, kill us with machetes, find where the
silver might be (as a matter of fact it was under Jebb's
bed) and retire with the spoil. As police were lacking
and our own folk were camped at a distance, in the
Mexico of those days this scheme seemed easy of
accomplishment, since two men surprised at night could
not have done much against a band of armed assassins.

About midnight an attempt was made to put it
into operation. The robbers arrived and began to
climb the wall ; afterwards we saw their footprints
on the mosses and the displaced stones. For some
reason, however, Jebb was suspicious and, when he

MEXICO 63

was disturbed by the furious barldng of the dogs
belonging to the house, he rose and went to the boltless
window, whence he overheard the thieves whispering
together at the bottom of the wall. I also was
awakened by the barking of the dogs, but, after making
sure that my pistol was at hand under my pillow, went
to sleep again. For the rest of the story I will quote
what I wrote in my Introduction to Mrs. Jebb's Life
of her husband :

Retreating to the bed he [i.e. Jebb] seated himself on
the edge of it, holding a wax match in one hand and his
long-barrelled Colt cocked in the other. This was his plan :
to wait till he heard the thieves push open the French windows,
then to strike the match (for the night was pitch dark), and by
its light to fire at them over it before they could attack him.

For a long while he sat thus, and twice he heard the loose
stones dropping as his assailants began to climb up the wall
beneath the window ; but on each occasion they were frightened
by the clamour of the dogs, which at length grew so loud that,
thinking our Indian servants, who slept at a distance from the
house, would be aroused, the thieves took to flight without the
dollars, leaving nothing but some footprints behind them.

' And why did you not come and wake me ? ’ I asked when
he had finished his tale.

‘ Oh ! ’ he answered, ‘ I nearly did so, but I knew that you
were very tired ; also there was no use in both of us handing
in our checks : for there were a dozen of those devils, and, had
they got into the room, they would have made a clean sweep
of us.’

I did not make any reply ; but I remember th in ki n g, and
I stUl think, that this conduct showed great courage and great
unselfishness on the part of Mr. Jebb. Most people would have
retreated at the first alarm ; but this, with the utter fearless-
ness which was one of his characteristics, he did not do,
since the dollars in his charge were too heavy to carry, and;
before men could be found to assist him, they would have been
secured by the robbers, who knew well where to look for them.

64 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

In the rare event, however, of the supply of personal pluck
proving equal to such an occasion, how many of us, for the
reasons given, having a well-armed white companion at hand,
would have neglected to summon him to take his part in the
fray ? A man must be very brave and very unselfish indeed
to choose to face a band of Mexican cut-throats when a word
would bring a comrade to his side.

I may add that his conduct was foolish as well as
unselfish, since in such a business two can fire quicker
than one. Also the sound of the first shot would of
course have wakened me with the result that I should
have rushed, bewildered and unprepared, into the fray
and probably have been cut down before I understood
the situation.

However, as it happened, we escaped, thanks to
that noble animal, the dog. So did the cold-blooded
villains who had planned our murder in order to enrich
themselves.

What a land of bloodshed Mexico has been, is still,
in this year of revolution, and some prophetic spirit
tempts me to add, shall be ! The curse of the bloody
Aztec gods seems to rest upon its head. There, from
generation to generation, blood calls for blood. And
yet, if only it were inhabited by some righteous race,
what a land it might be with its richness and its beauty !
For my part, I believe that it would be well for it if it
should pass into the power of the United States.

From this place of a forgotten name we proceeded
to the mine on mules. It was a fearful journey, but
how long it took to accomplish I cannot remember.
For the first part of it the road, if it could be called
a road, consisted of a kind of corduroy of little ridges
with mud-holes of from one to three feet deep between
them, which had been gradually hoUowed out by the
feet of mules, the ridges being those portions of the

.1/. Grelffi'nha^en, R .A., ^/n.v.

Ladv Haggard

MEXICO 65

ground on which these did not tread. As heavy rains
had fallen and, indeed, were still falling, the pleasures
of such a ride may well be imagined. Once we stopped
at a hacienda where there was a cocoa plantation that
I was told produced a great deal of money in that
fertile soil. I shall never forget the place, or at least the
impression it produced upon me. In a long low room
a fat half-breed, its owner, was swinging in a hammock,
or rather being swung by Indian girls. Terrible stories
were told of such men and their poor Indian slaves
in these remote places, for in practice slaves they
still remained, especially with reference to the young
women who grew up upon their estates. Whether
things have bettered since that day I do not know,
but, if certain works that I have read are true, I gather
that in such matters they remain much the same as
they were two hundred years ago.

After the corduroy road plains we passed into the
mountains where, by the hollowing action of water,
the tracks had been reduced to a kind of ditch floored
with a butter of red clay. Here there were precipices,
along the edges of which we ambled. One spot
remains firmly fixed upon my mind. The path along
the precipice had been broken away and a new one
made a little further lip the hiUside. When we reached
the place I tried to turn my mule to this upper path.
But the wooden-mouthed brute was of a different
opinion. Baggage mules, I should explain, always
prefer the edge of a precipice, because their burdens
are less likely to be knocked by projecting rocks or
other mules. Therefore, this beast that I rode insisted
upon taking the lower path. The natural result
followed : we began to descend the red butter slide
with great rapidity. There was neither time nor room
to dismount. All appeared to be over, since a few

VOL, II. s

66 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

yards in front, the path having, as I said, been washed
away, was empty space. However, just in time, the
mule itself awoke to the situation. I presume that
its inherited experience told it that to be dashed to
pieces is not agreeable. At any rate it put on some
kind of vacuum brake of its own, with the result that
we puUed up on the extremest edge of nothingness ;
indeed, it seemed to me that when our slide came to
its end aU the creature’s four feet were gathered in
a round that might have been covered by a Mexican
priest's hat. Afterwards that same mule, the most
incompetent surely of all its kind, fell with me in the
midst of a flooded river.

Another such river we were obliged to cross seated
in a loop of string which was slung upon a rope, quite
an exciting mode of progression. Upon the occasion
of Mr. Jebb’s previous visit to this mine either the loop
or the rope broke, and the cook who was making the
journey went to a watery grave.

We slept a night in a saw-mill that had been estab-
lished by the mining company upon the banks of a great
river. I remember that at dawn I went to bathe in
this river, and was struck with the marvellous beauty
of the scene. The face of the water was covered with
clouds of floating mist, while above, rising in tiers
from the steep banks of the river, appeared the motion-
less, solemn trees. And then the indescribable silence
and the utter loneliness. The great primeval forest
beyond this river was very wonderful, at any rate to
me who had never seen its like. Here grew vast trees
with rib-like roots that ran far up the trunk, and
between the trees impenetrable thickets of Indian
Shot — Canna, I think, is the right name — ^twenty feet
and more in height. When the Indians wish to grow
a crop of maize they bum a patch of this Canna scrub

MEXICO 67

and sow the seed in the rich ash-fertilised soil, where
it bears abundantly.

These Indians of remoter Mexico are strange, sad
creatures whose demeanour suggests that the woes
and wickedness heaped upon their forefathers by the
cruel Spaniards have never faded from the minds of
the ■ descendants. In body they are handsome and
often stately, but their souls seem crushed. Now they,
whose race once was free and great, as the mighty
ruins show, are but hewers of wood and drawers of
water whom the white man kills if they venture to
cross his desire. On the narrow mountain paths or in
the depths of the vast forests the traveller meets them
toiling forward under the weight of some tremendous
load. Humbly the poor creatures, in whose veins
perhaps flows the blood of Montezuma, draw aside and
stand resting on their long sticks while the white lords
pass. Then once more they begin their' patient
journeyings.

By the way, I saw a very curious ‘ mackintosh ’ in
use among these Chiapas Indians. It consisted of two
huge leaves, I suppose of some water plant, which were
fastened together at the base, leaving a hole for the
wearer’s head. These leaves, thus arranged, hung to
below the middle before and behind, and were im-
permeable even to the tropical Mexican rain. A long
line of men clad in them presented the strangest of
sights.

We arrived at the mine at last, and spent some days
there. It was in the charge of an English gentleman
whose name I am sorry to say I have quite forgotten,
but who received us with much kindness. He had
built himself, or the company had built for him, a long
low house with a verandah and some spare rooms, in
one of which I slept. After the mosquito-haunted

68 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

canoe and our other nocturnal habitations, that clean
little room seemed an almost celestial abode. Taran-
tulas were very plentiful about the house and, going to
bed one night, I perceived a specimen of inconceivable
size — ^really it looked as large as a plate — sitting on the
ceiling immediately above my head, and shouted for
assistance. My host arrived and, after inspection of
the monster, exclaimed : ‘ For goodness’ sake don’t
touch it ! That isn’t a tarantula, that’s the chap
who lives upon tarantulas ! ’ I accepted the explana-
tion, but asked him to be good enough to remove this
household god to his own room.

While Jebb was engaged in the affairs of the mine
I wandered about the beautiful valley in which it was
situated, collecting plants and ferns. The vegetation
here was truly wonderful, while palms and other trees,
covered with ferns and orchids to their crowns, pre-
sented a lovely sight. Only, because of the snakes
which were said to abound, it was necessary to be very
careful in gathering these floral treasures. With much
difficulty I succeeded in bringing a sackload of roots
to England, and in the greenhouses here stiU survive
some of the plants I collected in Mexico, though certain
of the ferns grew so enormous that they had to be given
away. I lost that sack on an American train, and was
told by the conductor to go and look for it in a very
insufficiently lighted van, where presently I came to
grief over some hard object. It proved to be a coffined
corpse which was being ‘ mailed ’ from one part of the
States to another.

Our return journey to Frontera was quite as arduous
as that of which I have spoken, but in the end we
arrived without having contracted fever or met with
any serious mishap. Here, however, we fell victims
to Mexican guile. The American steamer, with our

MEXICO 69

wives and luggage on board, was due to call on the
following day, but some rascal at Frontera who was
agent for the line, and also owned a tub that plied
between that port and Vera Cruz, informed us that this
she would not do because of a ' norther ' that was
coming up. Now a ‘ norther ' is a very terrible gale
which blows for days at a time in the Gulf of Mexico,
making it impossible for even the finest ship to
approach certain of the ports, and the agent swore
that his telegraphic information as to its arrival was
correct. This, of course, meant that we might look
forward to, I think, another fortnight of the pleasures
of Frontera.

However, the agent was ready with a remedy. The
tub I have mentioned was sailing for Vera Cruz at
once. It would, he said, get there before the liner left,
or, if not, it would signal to the hner to stop and take
us aboard. Only we must make up our minds instantly
— ^within five minutes. We fell into the trap, paid an
expensive fare, and steamed off in that dreadful ship.
During the night we sighted the American liner with
our wives on board, making straight for Frontera !
To communicate with her was impossible ; indeed,
once he had us safe at sea the captain laughed at the
idea. On the following morning the ladies arrived at
Frontera, where they expected to meet us, but were
told by the consummate villain of an agent who had
shipped us off in his own boat on the previous day, that
no Englishmen answering to our description had been
even heard of at Frontera. So they were forced to
proceed upon their journey in a state of some
anxiety.

We also had anxieties, for the machinery of our tub
broke down. There for one whole night we roUed
about o:ff the coast of Mexico, sleeping, or rather sitting.

70 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

on the coils of rope upon the deck and waiting for the
promised ' norther ’ which now showed every sign of
arrival. Fortunately, however, it did not develop
until later, for, had it done so, our ship in its disabled
condition would in all probability have gone to the
bottom. By the following morning the engines were
more or less patched up, and we crept into Vera Cruz
with no baggage except the travel-stained garments in
which we stood and the sack of fern roots whereof
I have spoken, for such spare clothes as we possessed
had been left behind.

The end of it was that we journeyed back to the
City of Mexico, a place that I had hoped never to see
again, where we bought a few necessaries and took the
train to New York.

After five days of arduous travel, during which
I suffered much from headache, we reached that city
to find that our womenkind had also arrived there
safely. Two or three things remain impressed upon
my mind in connection with this long train journey.
One is the sad and desolate aspect of the sandy wilder-
nesses of Upper Mexico, dotted here and there with
tall cacti, as these appeared in the light of the full
moon. Another is the sight of a small herd of bison
which we passed on the great plains of Texas, I suppose
among the last that were left in that country. These
I am very glad to have seen in their wild state. The
third is the view of Niagara as we saw it in one wintry
dawn. The train pulled up to allow us to inspect the
Falls, and for a while we stood almost on the brink of
the cataract watching the great ice boulders thunder
to the depths below. It was a mighty and majestic
scene, which the loneliness of the hour did much to
enhance.

From New York we took ship for Liverpool, where

MEXICO 71

we arrived without accident in due course. I was not
well at the time, having again been attacked by
influenza on the voyage. Needless to say, our home-
coming was very sad. After, I think, only one night
in London we came to Ditchingham, where I found my
two little girls dressed in black and — a grave.

CHAPTER XV

ANDREW LANG

Death of Andrew Lang — Recent letters from him — Suggested further colla-
boration — Lecture tour in S. Africa proposed — Letter from Charles
Longman — Queen Taia's ring.

The day on which I commence this chapter of my
reminiscences — ^July 22, 1912 — is a sad one for me, since
the first thing I saw on opening my eyes this morning
was the news of the sudden death of my dear friend,
Andrew Lang. It is odd that only last Thursday,
when I was in London, some vague anxiety concerning
him prompted me to make an effort to see Lang.
Having an hour to spare before my train left, I took
a taxi-cab and drove to his house in Marloes Road, to
find which his direction of many years ago used to be,

‘ Walk down Cromwell Road tiU you drop, then turn
to the right ! ’

I found the house shut up, and the Scotch girl,
arriving from the lower regions, informed me that her
master had left for Scotland on Tuesday. I gave my
card, asking her to forward it, then called to the girl as
she was shutting the door to ask how Lang was. She
replied that he had been imweU, but was much better.
So, perhaps for the last time, I departed from that
house with which I used to be so familiar in the old
days, filled with such sad thoughts and apprehensions
that on my return home I mentioned them to Miss
Hector, my secretary.

ANDREW LANG 73

Perhaps these were due to the drawn, death-
suggesting blinds, perhaps to the knowledge that Lang
had suffered much from melancholy of late — contrary
to the general idea, his was always a nature full of
sadness — perhaps to some more subtle reason. At
any rate, it was so.

I have not seen much of Andrew Lang of late years,
for the reason that we lived totally different lives in
totally different localities. The last time we met was
about a year ago at a meeting of the Dickens Centenary
Fimd Committee, after which I walked far with him
on his homeward way, and we talked as we used to talk
in the days when we were so much together. The time
before that was about two years ago, when I dined alone
with him and Mrs. Lang at Marloes Road, and we
passed a delightful evening.

Letters, too, have been scarce between us for some
years, though I have hundreds of the earlier times.
Here are extracts from one or two of the last which
have a melancholy interest now.

October 18, 1911.

Dear Rider, — ^Thanks for the Hare [this refers to my tale
of ‘ The Mahatma and the Hare ’].... I bar chevying hares,
but we are all hunted from birth to death by impecunious
relations, disease, care, and every horror. The hare is not
hunted half so much or half so endlessly. However, an37way,
I have not chevied a hare since I was nine, and that only on
my two little legs, all alone !

Yoms ever,

A. Lang.

If I were the Red-faced Man I’d say that from the beginning
all my forbears were hunters, that it got into the blood, and
went out of the blood with advancing age, so that perhaps it
might go out altogether, though I hardly think it will. And
ask WHO made it so !

74 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

By some chance there is a copy of my answer to this
letter, also of two subsequent ones which deal with
what might have been a business matter.

October 19, 1911.

My dear Andrew, — ^Yes, I have hinted at this hunting
of Man on p. 135, and at a probable reason. You are right:
hunted we are, and by a large pack ! Still I don’t know that
this justifies us in hunting other things. At any rate the idea
came to me and I expressed it. But I might as well have kept
it to myself. I doubt whether the papers will touch the thing :
to notice an attack on blood sports might not be popular !

As one grows old, I think the sadness of the world impresses
one more and more. If there is nothing beyond it is indeed
a tragedy. But, thank Heaven ! I can’t think that. I think
it less and less. I am engaged on writing (for publication
AFTER I have walked ‘ the Great White Road ’) my reminis-
cences of my early life in Africa, etc. It is a sad job. There
before me are the letters from those dear old friends of my
youth, Shepstone, Osborn, Clarke and many others, and nearly
every one of them is dead ! But I don’t believe that I shall
never see them more ; indeed I seem to grow nearer to them.

When I was a lad at Scoones’ I had an intimate friend
named Sheil. When I returned from Africa I found that he
had become a Trappist monk. We corresponded and I went
to see him. (He too is long dead.) In one of his letters I find
this sentence written over thirty years ago : ‘ What I wish is
that we may aU go home together and be together always.’

This exactly expresses my sentiments towards the few for
whom I care — dead or living.

Ever your friend,

H. Rider Haggard.

October 20 , 1911.

Dear Rider, — I expect we shall meet our dogs and cats.
They have ghosts ! I don’t much bar fox-hunting : it needs
pluck, and the fox, a sportsman himself, only takes his chances
and often gets away. It’s all a matter of thinking. Scott

ANDREW LANG

was a humane man, but devoted to coursing, which I abominate.
Wordsworth never thought of harm in trout-fishing, with fly.
Now I was horn to be ruthful to trout, as a kid, and sinned
against light, but I could not use the worm.

Why on earth do you keep letters ? I have a very few
sealed up, but dare not look on them. . . .

A little later, either at Charles Longman’s suggestion
or with his approval, it occurred to me to try to cheer
Lang up and take him out of himself a little by getting
him to collaborate, or at any rate to think over col-
laboration, in another romance. To this end I wrote
to him as follows :

November lo, igii.

My dear Andrew, — I have come across a scheme we had
(about a quarter of a century ago) for collaboration in a novel
of Old Kor.

I think it has been in bottle long enough and should be
decanted.

What say you ? Have you any ideas ? I see stuff in it,
but could not really tackle it just at present. It would be
rather jolly to do another job with you, old fellow.

After all ‘ The World’s Desire,’ about which you were rather
melancholy, has stood the test of time fairly well and many
people still Hke it much.

Ever yours,

H. Rider Haggard.

Here is the answer, written from St. Andrews :

November nth.

Dear Rider, — Faire des objections c’est collaborer, but
I don’t think that I could do more. Had I any ideas of Kor
long ago? ‘She,’ I think, is not easily to be raised again unless
she drops her [word illegible] for some prehistoric admirer.
I hke K6r, but have no precise conception of it, unless the
Eg 3 ^tians came thence.

76 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

The W.D. [‘ World’s Desire ’] took in despite of my ill-
omened name ; I brought you worse luck than you would have
had alone.

Yours ever,

A. Lang.

Do you bar ferreting rabbits ? I think it damnable.

The answer to this is dated November 13, 1911.

November 13, 1911.

My DEAR Andrew, — ^AU right, you shall ‘ faire des objec-
tions,’ i.e. if ever we hve to get at the thing, which I can’t do
at present.

I think Kor was the mother of Egypt, which kept up a filial
correspondence with her oracles. ‘ She ’ smashed the place in
a rage because they tried her for the murder of Kallikrates.
Foundation of history — pap57rus records brought home by
Holly and sent with ‘Ayesha’ MS. Entered up by that old
priest Junis, or someone.

Yes, ferreting rabbits is beastly, especially when the ferret
freezes on to the rabbit in the hole. But one must get rid
of rabbits somehow. Now coursing — ^but you know my views
on the matter.

Ever yours,

H. Rider Haggard.

I find among my copies of letters one written to
Lang in 1907, which also deals with the question of
a further collaboration that we contemplated at this
time. I had quite forgotten the matter, but now
I remember that it came to nothing. Lang suggested
one of the old Greek legends that ended in the most
horrible aU-round tragedy — I do not at the moment
recall which of them it was, though I could easily
discover by consulting his letters of the period.

I said that it would not do: that a twentieth-
century audience would require something a little more
cheerful. I think he was rather cross with me about
it — ^if he could be cross with me, for no shadow of

ANDREW LANG 77

real difference ever came between us. At any rate
the idea fell through, for which, too late, I am very
sorry now. Here is my letter :

Ditchingham House, Norfolk:

December 2d ,, 1907.

My dear Andrew, — I’d like to do another book with you
before we skip — awfully. I think you were a bit discouraged
about the ‘ W. Desire ’ because a lot of ignorant fools slated
it, but in my opinion you were wrong. That work I believe
will last. It is extraordinarily liked by many who can under-
stand. I told you about the American Egyptologist I met, for
instance, who reads it every night !

Well now : I don’t care much for your Covenanter who
would speak Scotch, etc. {i.e. at first sight). He would not
have much of a pubhc or enlist the heart. Can you not think
of something ‘ big and beautiful,’ something that has an idea
in it ? Something for choice that has to do with old Greece
(which you know) and with old Egypt (which I know ?) . Some-
thing with room in it for a few of your beautiful verses (I am
not laying it on, old feUow, only saying the truth). In short,
a real poetical romance such as we might both be proud of.
Now don’t toss this aside, but think. You know aU the old
world legends : there must be some that would lend them-
selves to this general scheme : that of the quest for the divine,
which must (for the purposes of story) be symbolised by woman.
You see the thing must have a heart ; mere adventures are
not enough : I can turn them out by the peck. A motive,
friend, a motive ! that’s what we need, and one that the world
knows of.

How about a variant of the Faust legend? How about the
Sons of God and the Daughters of Men ? Something grand
and pure and simple, something to lift up ! Now don’t be
discouraged, for though we are both antique, I know that we
can do it, if only we can find the theme.

Where is our H3q)atia ? Let’s do a big thing for once and
die happy ! Please answer.

Yours ever,

H. Rider Haggard.

78 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

The last notes I ever received from him were
written in February of the present year, just before
I went to Eg5^t, and in somewhat better spirits than
those that I have quoted. For instance, one begins
' Cher Monsieur le Chevalier.’

At Longman’s request I had suggested to Lang,
half-jokingly, that we should go together on a lecture
tour to South Africa, as to which some proposals had
been made to Longman.

‘ Me go to South Africa to lecture ! ’ he answered.
' Why, going from London to Upp ’ — ^Longman’s place
in Hertfordshire — ‘ knocks me up.’

Evidently so long ago as February he was not
feeling strong. I may add that a week or two since
I met our mutual friend. Sir WiUiam Richmond, to
whom ‘ The World’s Desire ’ was dedicated. He told
me that he thought seriously of Lang's health — that
he seemed very anxious to see his friends, but when
he did see them spoke but little.

Looking through Lang’s letters to me I find one,
written from St. Andrews on February 20, 1896, that
tells me of the death of his brother in moving terms.
In that letter appears the following passage, which on
this sad day I quote with pride and gratitude :

‘ You have been more to me of what the dead friends
of my youth were, than any other man, and I take the
chance to say it, though not given to speaking of such
matters.’

With this letter is a draft of my answer, rough and
cut about, from which I extract a passage or two.

‘ No, there is nothing to be said, except what I once
put into the mouth of a character in “Montezuma” —
that no affection is perfect until it is sealed and sancti-
fied by death.’

(I feel the truth of that statement to-day when dear

ANDREW LANG 79

Lang seems nearer to me than he has been for many
a year — than he has ever been !)

After all what is it, this death ? As I grow older I seem
to understand the hope and beauty of it, and though doubtless
I shall recoil afraid, to rejoice that life should close so soon.
Better to die than to see those we love die. For to most of us
existence here at the best is unhappy. Goodness and the
desire to better the state of others are the only happy things
in it, and the first in our half-brutal nature is hard to attain.
But I think it can be attained if opportunity and space endure,
and then, our many past sins, errors and foulness of thought
and deed notwithstanding, why should we fear to die ? Surely
those men are mad who in their httle day reject the offerings
of religion, for through faith the communion of the creature
with his Maker is real and possible to him who seeks it, what-
ever the fashion of his seeking, and without that communion
hght is not. Love also is real and immortal, not lust, but the
love of children and friends and fellow-beings — that light shall
always shine. For myself I hope to live long enough to win
sufficient success and money to do some little good to others.
If I fail in the attempt . . . may the earnest endeavour be
accepted ! At least we should try, since aU we have, intelli-
gence, attributes, means, is but lent to us. I wonder if you
will set me down as a simple religious enthusiast or as a little
mad with my notions of the efficacy of faith and prayer.
Perhaps I am the latter — sorrow breeds it — but at least my
madness is a star to foUow. . . .

My dear Lang, that friendship to which you make such
touching allusion always has been, is and will be returned by
myself. I will say no more.

In the letter to which the above was an answer
Lang quotes some verses by Lockhart to exemplify his
own state of mind, which, as he says, ‘ are good and
simple ' — so good, and at this moment so appropriate
indeed, that I cannot end these remarks better than
by copying them.

THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

It is an old belief
That on some solemn shore
Beyond the sphere of grief
Dear friends shall meet once more.

Beyond the sphere of Time,

And Sin, and Fate’s control.

Serene in changeless prime
Of body and of soul.

That creed I fain would keep.

This hope I’ll not forgo ;

Eternal be the sleep.

Unless to waken so.

And so to Andrew Lang, among men my best friend
perhaps, and the one with whom I was most entirely in
tune, farewell for a while. Of his character and gifts
I have already written while he was still living, so
I will say no more of them now. There are few such,
and to-day the world is poorer and greyer for the loss
of a pure and noble nature. For myself I am more
lonely, since of those men, not my kin, whom I knew
and loved while I still was young, now Charles Longman
and Arthur Cochrane alone are left.

I find also another letter from Lang dated June 2,
1902, in which he informs me of the death of a second
brother — ‘ my little brother ; he was always little, and
ten years younger than I. ... I tell you because you are
a good fellow if ever there was one, and so was he,’ etc.

I quote no more, according to the rule I have made
as to certain matters which belong to the private lives
of others. My answer, however, which is pinned to
the letter, may be printed, as that is my affair and only
portrays my private views.

June 6, 1902.

My dear Andrew, — ^Very well, I won’t write about it ; but
try to take comfort. I am sure that no affections are so perfect

Sir 11 B. RicJnnoniU B .A.,

About 1886

ANDREW LANG

as those which have passed through the fires of death, and often
I think that as sometimes we grow away from the living, so
always do we grow nearer to the desired dead — in spirit, I mean.

It is a strange world, especially to those who feel much,
but the only things to do seem to be to work on to the best of
one’s ability, to be very sorry for one’s sins, and in great humble-
ness to wait till the morthl tide engulfs us also — ^hoping that
beneath or beyond it we may find peace, understanding and
our perfect part. If I am sure of anything I am sure that
Man has a living Spirit, and that he does not suffer so much
to please the laws of Matter or a god called Chance. With

true sympathy, Your affec. friend,

H. Rider Haggard.

Some days after Lang’s death I received a letter
from Charles Longman, of which I will quote a passage
that deals with the character of Andrew Lang and
the friendship we both had for him.

Yes, you and I wiU always feel a blank when we think of
Andrew Lang. He was of all men the most loyal to his friends
— ^it was one of his most marked characteristics, and there had
been a bond between us three which nothing could break. As
you know, I had been anxious about him this spring, though
not about his heart, which the doctor had lately examined
without finding anything wrong. But his eyesight was
threatened, and there was this strange depression about public
affairs, which seemed as though it might grow worse. In old
days when he was bright and cheerful it is little he troubled
himself about strikes and such-like. So it may be that he —
and those who loved him — ^have been spared something by his
swift end. But the breaking of an unclouded friendship of
five-and-forty years is no light thing : as you say, one must
hope that the break is but a temporary one and that there is
some other meeting-place for friends. Matt. Arnold says :

‘ Sad fate of every mortal lot
Which man, proud man, finds hard to bear.

And builds himself, I know not what
Of second life, I know not where.’

VOL. n.

THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

At some date before he died Lang asked his wife
to give to me a certain ring in token of remembrance.
I have now received and shall always wear this ring.
It belonged to Queen Taia, the wife of Amenophis III,
or perhaps to Nefertiti, her daughter-in-law, who
married the famous Khu-en-aten, the fourth Amenophis
and the remarkable Pharaoh who inaugurated what the
priests of Amen considered the heresy of the worship
of the Sun’s Disc, by which, I take it, he symbolised
the one Almighty God who made the world. On this
ring, which, I think, from the length of time that
it had evidently been worn, must have adorned the
hand of Taia some 3500 years ago, is engraved a cat
adoring Ra or the Sun, or perhaps the ‘ Aten ’ or
Disc. I already possess the sister ring that, from the
less amount of wear it shows, was probably worn by
the shorter-lived Nefertiti, Khu-en-aten’s adored and,

I believe, sole wife. Both of them were obtained by
us from the Rev. W. J. Loftie in the year 1887, who
acquired them in Egypt when, about that time, the
mummies of these queens were discovered and broken
up by the Arabs at Tel-el-Amama.

CHAPTER XVI

ROMANCE-WRITING

Miss Ida Hector — H. R. H. dictates h.is works to her — Wishes for change of
occupation — Dream -pictures — H. R. H.'s theory of Romance- writing —
Literary coincidences — Examples from the works of H. R. H . — The
Spectator.

When I returned from Mexico in 1891 I fell into very
poor health. Everything, especially my digestion,
went wrong, so wrong that I began to think that my
bones would never grow old. Amongst other in-
conveniences I found that I could no longer endure
the continual stooping over a desk which is involved
in the writing of books. It was therefore fortunate
for me that about this time Miss Ida Hector, the
eldest daughter of Mrs. Hector, better known as
Mrs. Alexander, the novelist, became my secretary,
and in that capacity, as in those of a very faithful
friend and companion, to whose sound sense and
literary judgment I am much indebted, has so remained
to this day. From that time forward I have done
a great deal of my work by means of dictation, which
has greatly relieved its labour. Some people can
dictate, and others cannot. Personally I have always
found the method easy, provided that the dictatee, if
I may coin a word, is patient and does not go too fast.
I imagine, for instance, that it would be impossible
to dictate a novel to a shorthand-writer. Also, if the

person who took down the words irritated one in any

84 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

way, it would be still more impossible. Provided
circumstances are congenial, however, the plan has
merits, since to many the mere physical labour of
writing clogs the mind. So, at least, various producers
of books seem to have found. Among them I recall
Thackeray and Stevenson.

Of the next few years of my life there is not much
to teU. I lived here at Ditchingham in a very quiet
and retired fashion, rarely visiting London, wrote a few
novels, and for recreation occupied myself with farming
and gardening, for which occupations I have always
had an instinctive taste. The work that I did was
a good deal attacked : it was the fashion to attack me
in those days. Possibly owing to my iU-health some
of it may not have been quite up to the mark ; I do
not know. What I do know is that I grew heartily
tired of the writing of stories. After the birth of my
youngest child, Lihas, which to my great joy happened
at the end of the year 1892, my health and spirits
began to mend and my energy to return, largely
owing, I think, to the treatment of my friend Dr. Lyne
Stivens. I was stiU a youngish man, but had reached
that time of hfe when I felt that if I was to make any
change of occupation it must be done at once. And
I longed to make a change, for this humdrum existence
in a country parish, staring at crops and cultivating
flowers, was, I felt, more suitable to some aged man
whose life’s work was done than to myself. Also at
this time the unrealities of fiction- writing greatly
wearied me, oddly enough much more than they do at
present, when they have become a kind of amusement
and set-off to the more serious things and thoughts
with which my fife is occupied.

Still it is true that even now, if circumstances
allowed of it, I do not think I should write much more

ROMANCE-WRITING 85

fiction, at any rate of the kind that people would buy.
With the exception of certain stories that I should like
to tell for their own sake, and not to earn money by
them, I should occupy my time with writings of a
different sort, connected, probably, for the most part
with the land, agriculture, and social matters. For
instance, I should dearly like to finish my survey of
rural England, and to undertake that of Scotland,
Wales, and Ireland — ^tasks, I suppose, that I shall never
be able to execute. Only this year ^ I had arranged to
make an effort to investigate and write on the agri-
culture of Ireland. But then, of a sudden, I was
appointed to the Dominions Royal Commission, and
how could I find time for both ? The months that
I had proposed to devote to Ireland I have been obliged
to spend in writing a story.

I know that folk — very superior folk — exist who
affect to scorn the base person who does one kind of
work when he would like to do another, merely because
the former does and the latter does not pay. There is
something to be said for this position, but if a man
chances to realise that he does not live unto himself
alone, and to have many dependent upon him, directly
or indirectly, or if he chances to desire to render
gratuitous services to his country, he must, in such
a case, ‘ cut his coat according to his cloth.’

Therefore, although I should have dearly liked to
place on record my views of Irish agriculture, in place
thereof I have found myself obhged to edit certain of
the reminiscences of Mr. Allan Quatermain. To be
honest, these have amused me not a little, perhaps
because I always find it easy to write of Allan
Quatermain, who, after aU, is only myself set in a
variety of imagined situations, thinking my thoughts

1 1912. — Ed.

86 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

and looking at life through my eyes. Indeed there
are several subjects with which I always find it not
difficult to deal — for instance, Old Egypt, Norsemen,
and African savages. Of these last, however, I prefer
to write in the company of the late Allan Quatermain.

At the time of which I am now speaking, the early
nineties, it was, however, otherwise, for then, being
much younger, I wearied of fiction and longed for the
life of action to which I had been bred and that, indeed,
is native to my character. In truth, the dislike and
revolt of my heart in those days stiU haunts me as
a kind of nightmare which is perhaps sufficiently
amusing to relate.

Many people have their favourite dreams, and
within the last year or so I have developed a very fair
specimen of this class of illusion which comes to me in
an oft-repeated vision of the mind. Who does not
know that order of dream wherein we seem to move
among the dead and in their company, with eager yet
trembling feet, to try the cold waters of the stream of
Death ?

Wen, through the ivory gates of such a dream as
this at times I seem to see my spiritual heritage spread
large before me in a world of pictured silence. There,
at the back of the picture, rises the mighty chff whereon,
at intervals, the great golden figures, which I take it
are images and not alive, seem to keep watch and ward
over the illimitable lands beneath ; while between
them, also at intervals of scores or hundreds of leagues,
pour the cataracts gathered I know not whence. In
a fold of that cliff lie the blue waters of the Holy Lake,
surrounded by wide cedars and huge, immemorial pines
that spring two hundred feet without a bough and, at
their crown, end always in a single bent plume of green,
as though up on high some strong wind shaped them

ROMANCE-WRITING 87

with a steady hand. Along the foot of the cliff runs
a great river that, like the Nile, floods the lands at
certain seasons and makes them bear a hundredfold.
Winding almost at right angles from the mountain
slope, it flows across the boundless plain, past a white
and wonderful city whose domes and palaces I only
see from far away, for here my guide has never led me.
There on its banks soar gracious palms ; there wiUows
weep ; there spread aspens with leaves just about to
quiver ; and there, through the sparse woodlands,
roam the wild things of the New Creation, seeking their
food from God and fearing no hurt from aught that
serves Him. Facing this river, to the right as I see it,
but far across the plain, are lovely mountains not so
very lofty, where, from the other river of the lake,
amidst slender ferns, rush waterfalls that descend in
bursts of stirless spray.

There, too, in the east — can it be the east, I wonder ?
— is the very well and fount of hght ; a soft but radiant
light that casts no shadow, since it grows and flows
above, beneath, around, and everywhere. Its shape
is that of a luminous fan. While the day increases —
how long that day is I do not know — so does the glory
of that fan extend till it fiUs all those celestial skies ; till
it bends across them beyond the mighty cliff where
stand the golden guards, as in the funeral paintings of
Old Egypt the image of the goddess Nout bends across
the heavens and holds the earth in her embracing arms.
Then, as at length the night draws on, this wondrous
fan folds itself again to a cluster of jewelled stars, large
as young moons and of every lovely hue, var3dng from
that of a kind of shining blackness to those of steel blue,
and scarlet, and red fire, that girdle the firmament with
a glittering belt as might do the Milky Way drawn near.

Overlooking all these wonders, at the foot of the

88 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

- cliff, beyond the borders of the lake but at a lower level,
in this fantastic dream of mine stands a strange and
silent house built for me by hands that I have known.
I see its central hall, where all those I loved or love in
life steal in and out, I see a certain chamber, low and
large, which overlooks the dreaming landscape, and,
more nearly, the walks of garden trees hung with bells
of white and purple blossom, with unknown, golden
fruits and creeping strands of vine. Standing in the
recessed doorway of this chamber, I see in its far comer,
seated at a desk above the covered terrace, myself,
younger than I am now, wearing some sort of white
garments and bending over the desk at work, with
papers spread before me.

At the sight a kind of terror seizes me lest this fair
place should be but a scented purgatory where, in
pa 5 nnent for my sins, I am doomed to write fiction for
ever and a day I

‘ At what do I work ? ' I ask, alarmed, of the guide
who, shining steadily, stands at my side and shows
me all.

‘ You write the history of a world ' (or was it ‘ of
the world ’ ? — I am not sure), is the answer, and in my
dream I breathe again.

For truly it would be a horrible fate to be doomed
from aeon to countless aeons to the composition of
romance.

Of course what I have set down is but a fancy such
as might come to an imaginative child. StiU, that
landscape, which I know as well as, if not better than,
any on the earth, has chairms and glories of its own.
Therefore I have wasted half an hour of my time and
some few minutes of my reader's in attempting very
briefly to describe that which in truth no words can
carry.

ROMANCE-WRITING 89

I confess that in any other life I should prefer some
change of employment, but if I should be doomed to
write there I hope that the subject-matter of my toil
may, as in the vision, prove to be not fiction but
history, which I love. In all the worlds above us
there must be much history to record. Also there
must be much good work to do, which is fortunate.
At least I can conceive no idle heaven — ^where it ‘ is
always afternoon.’ To me such a place would be the
reverse of heaven. To me happiness and work well
done, or service faithfully accomplished, are words
with a like meaning.

And now, with many apologies, I will turn to
mundane things again. Before I do so, however, as
I dare say I shall aUude to the subject no more, I
will add a word on the general matter of the writing
of romances. This, I gather, from remarks that have
been made to me and many letters that I have received,
is supposed to be a very easy art, if indeed it is worthy
to be classified under that high name. As a matter of
fact it is difficult. In a novel, as the word is generally
understood, the author may discourse upon a thousand
topics ; nothing, or at any rate very little, is barred to
him. He may burrow in the obscene depths of human
nature ; he may discuss politics, religion, metaphysics,
socialism, ‘ love ' in all its forms, the elemental or
artificial divisions between the sexes — oh ! what is
there that he may not and does not discuss ? Nothing
that appears in the columns of the daily papers, nothing
that is within the range of the human intellect, lies
beyond his legitimate, or illegitimate, scope.

In romance all this is different ; the lines between
which he must move are by comparison extremely
narrow : as, I remember, Besant put it admirably when
answering some onslaught on m5^elf in connection

go THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

with ‘ Montezuma’s Daughter ’ : ‘There is but one bag
of tricks in romance.’

The love interest, at least among English-speaking
peoples, must be limited and restrained in tone, must
follow the accepted lines of thought and what is defined
as morality. Indeed it may even be omitted, some-
times with advantage. The reaUy needful things are
adventure — ^how impossible it matters not at all, pro-
vided it is made to appear possible — and imagination,
together with a clever use of coincidence and an ordered
development of the plot, which should, if possible, have
a happy ending, since few folk like to be saddened by
what they read. If they seek melancholy, it can be
found in ample measure in real life or in the daily
papers. Still, the rule of the happy ending is one that
may be broken at times ; at least I have dared to do
so on some occasions, and notably in the instance of
‘ Eric Brighteyes.’ I remember that Charles Longman
remonstrated with me on this matter at the time, but
I showed him that the story demanded it — that,
although I too wept over the evil necessity, it must
be so 1

Now adventure in this narrow world of ours is
a Hmited quantity, and imagination, after aU, is
hemmed in by deductions from experience. When we
try to travel beyond these the results become so un-
famihar that they are apt to lack interest to the
ordinary mind. I think I am right in saying that
no one has ever written a reaUy first-class romance
dwelhng solely, for example, upon the utterly alien
life of another world or planet with which human
beings cannot possibly have any touch. Homer and
others bring such supernormal life into the circle of
our own surroundings and vivify it by contact, or by
contrast, with the play of human nature as exemplified

ROMANCE-WRITING 91

in their characters. But it will not stand alone. We
are not strong and skilled enough to carve out of quite
unknown material figures so life-like that even in a
dreaming hour they can pass as real. I repeat, there-
fore, that the lines which close in the kingdom of
romance are very narrow, and that the material which
must be used is so much handled that nowadays it has
become difiicult to fashion from it any shape that
is novel enough, or sufficiently striking to catch the
attention of the world.

What is there that has not been used ? Who, to
take a single instance, can hope to repeat the effect of
Robinson Crusoe on his desert island, or the thrill of
that naked footprint in the sand ? Defoe exhausted
these long ago ; everything of the sort that follows
must be a mere pastiche.

To pass over other saUent and familiar examples,
I may with humility remark that even a second ‘ She ’
would offer difficulties to her originator. In my own
day some have been tried, and proved very ephemeral
creations. The stock of such ideas, in short, is being
rapidly used up. There are only a certain number of
pieces of glass in the kaleidoscope, and the total of the
patterns that these can form is, after all, but limited.
With all the world explored and exhausted, I feel sorry
for the romance writers of the future, for I know not
whither they will turn without bringing themselves
into competition with the efforts of dead but stiU
remembered hands and exposing themselves to the
sneers of the hunters-out of ‘ plagiarisms.’

History remains to them, it is true, but that ground
has already been well tilled. Also historical romances
seem at present to be losing their hold, perhaps because
the reader of to-day fears lest he should be acquiring
some useful information against his wiU. The hohday

92 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

task, or reminiscences of it, looms largely in his mind.
Still, new avenues may open to those unborn scribes
of which at present we can catch no glimpse. In a
day to come there may even be romances of microbes
which wiU fix the attention and engage the imaginative
faculties of dim and distant generations.

Now as to the method of romance- writing. It
should, in my judgment, be swift, clear, and direct,
with as httle padding and as few trappings as possible.
The story is the thing, and every word in the book
should be a brick to build its edifice. Above all, no
obscurity should be allowed. Let the characters be
definite, even at the cost of a little crudeness, and so
with the meaning of each sentence. Tricks of ‘ style '
and dark allusions may please the superior critic ;
they do not please the average reader, and — ^though
this seems to be a fact that many forget, or only
remember to deplore — a book is written that it may
be read. The first duty of a story is to keep him who
peruses it awake ; if he is a tired man and it succeeds
in doing this, then, within its limitations, it is a good
tale. For instance, when a year or so ago Mr. KipHng,
who as a rule goes to bed early, told me that he had sat
up to I know not what hour and got chiUed through
reading ‘ The Ghost Kings ’ because he could not lay
it down, it gave me a higher opinion of that work than
I could boast before. In romance ‘ grip ’ is almost
everything. Whatever its faults, if a book has grip,
these may be forgiven.

Again, such work should be written rapidly and,
if possible, not rewritten, since wine of this character
loses its bouquet when it is poured from glass to glass.
It should be remembered, also, that the writer of a
romance must, so far as it is concerned, live during its
progress in an atmosphere quite alien to that of every-

ROMANCE-WRITING 93

day life. Now this in a workaday world is not easy
to grown people, who perhaps have many affairs and
anxieties to distract them, even if they possess or have
acquired the power of dividing their brains into more
or less watertight compartments. Indeed, for longer
than a certain period it becomes almost impossible.
Therefore, as the quality of the resulting story will
depend upon the preservation of this atmosphere of
romance while it is being evolved, it is highly desirable
that the actual period of evolution should be short.
Personally I have proved this, again and again, almost
to the extent that, in the case of my own books, I
can judge how long they have taken to write by their
quality, although I may long have forgotten the amount
of time I spent on each.

So it comes to this : the way to write a good
romance is to sit down and write it almost without
stopping. Of course some preliminary reflection is
desirable to realise a central idea roimd which the
story must revolve. For example, in ‘ She ’ that
central idea was a woman who had acquired practical
immortahty, but who found that her passions remained
immortal too. In ‘ The Holy Flower,’ which I finished
yesterday, to take another case, the central idea is
that of a gorilla which is worshipped as a god and
periodically slays the king who holds his office as the
brute’s priest and servant, with all the terrors that
result from such a situation. In the case of both these
books, as of many others, I had nothing more in my
mind when I set myself to face them. Of course in
such circumstances beginnings are hard — c’est le premier
pas qui coute — ^but after that the thing will generally
evolve itself. It is merely a case of what Anthony
Trollope used to call ‘ cobbler’s wax.’ Or, if it ‘ will
not do so,’ the author had better give up romance-

94 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

writing and take up some useful occupation that is
more congenial.

Of course these are only my views, but they are
based upon an experience that is now painfully ex-
tended. Other men may have other and better
methods so far as they are concerned. They pre-
suppose, however, that the writer is to a sufficient
degree possessed by the Spirit of Romance, without
which he wiU do nothing of any permanent or even of
immediate value. The faculty of imaginative insight
must be a part of his intellectual outfit. He must be
able, as he creates, to summon each scene whereof he
treats before the eyes of his mind. He must see the
characters and their surroundings ; the lion springing,
the Zulu regiments rushing with uphfted spears, the
fire eating into the grass of the hillside, while before it
the scorched snakes glide and hiss. He must share the
every hope and care of those whom he begets : the
rich, low voice of Ayesha must thriU his nerves ; he
must discern her enthralling and unearthly beauty,
and look into the mingled grandeurs of her blasted
soul !

And so on, and on ; for if he, the creator, does not
know the beings and things which he creates — ^if the
details of them are as blurred as the images in a
defective glass — how can he expect to convey a clear
picture to his reader ? At the best that reader must
help him out, must be the possessor of a certain
receptive power and able to fill in a thousand minutiae
of character and so forth, for to attempt to state these
would overload the story, which, be it remembered,
should consist of action, action, action from the first
page to the last. For the rest, little matters. Even
if the writer does not know what is coming next the
circumstance is of no importance, for it will come when

ROMANCE-WRITING 95

it is wanted. There are even advantages in this, since,
if he does not know, it is quite certain that his reader
must remain in equal ignorance — a thing to be desired.

Such is the whole art of romance-writing as it is
understood by me — ^who, critics may say, per contra,
do not understand it at all. To such as have suffi-
cient experience of life and adventure in far lands,
or sufficient vision to enable them to re-create the past,
the gift is to be had for the taking — ^by those who can
take. To such as lack these quahfications it is some-
what hard to grasp and hold. But even if he possesses
all this equipment I would warn the future artist not
to expect too much success, since a perfect specimen
of the true breed of the beautiful butterfly, Romance,
is rarely to be caught. After the searcher has hunted
all his life, if he finds two or three of them in his
cabinet he will have done very well indeed ; and even
at these, connoisseurs who sit at home and do not hunt
themselves will be found to cavil. In old days such
specimens were perhaps more common, though but
a few have survived the rust and damp of time. But
then their breeding-grounds in the dank tropical
marshes or the lion-haunted forests were less known,
and those who devoted themselves to this chase were
few in number and supremely qualified for the business.
Now travelling is cheap, hundreds handle the net, and
all come home with something that is offered for sale
under the ancient label.

It is curious how often imagination is verified by
fact— perhaps, as I said at the beginning of this screed,
because the fines in which it must work are narrow
and after all based on fact, perhaps because it does
possess some spiritual insight of its own. Many
instances have come within my own experience, of
which I will quote a few that I chance to remember.

96 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

I pass over ‘ King Solomon’s Mines,’ a work of pure
imagination, for in my day very little was known of the
regions wherein its scenes were laid, many details of
which have been verified by subsequent discovery. In
its sequel, ' Allan Quatermain,’ however, occurs a fine
example of the literary coincidence. In this book I
invented a mission station at an unexplored spot on
the Tana River, which station I caused to be attacked
by the Masai. In subsequent editions of the work
I inserted the following note, which explains itself :

By a very strange and sad coincidence, since the above
was written, the Masai, in April 1886, massacred a missionary
and his wife — Mr. and Mrs. Houghton — on this same Tana
River, and at the spot described. These are, I believe, the first
white people who are known to have fallen victims to this cruel
tribe.

Again, in a tale called ‘ Maiwa’s Revenge,’ I gave
an elaborate description of a certain escape of Allan
Quatermain from pursuing savages, who hunted him
up the face of a cliff and seized hold of his ankles. He
freed himself from their attentions by firing down on
them along the line of his leg with a pistol. Some
years later a gentleman arrived at this house whose
name, I think, was Ebbage, and on whose card was
printed the vague and remote address, ‘ Matabeleland.’
He informed me that he had travelled specially from
London to inquire how on earth I had learned the
details of his escape from certain savages, as he had
never mentioned them to a single soul. Before he left
I satisfied myself that his adventure and that invented
by myself and described in the tale, which I had thought
one of a somewhat original sort, were in every particular
identical.

Again, in ' Mr. Meeson’s Will ’ I set out very fully

ROMANCE-WRITING 97

indeed the circumstances under which a new and
splendid liner was lost at sea, and the great majority
of those on board of her were drowned owing to lack
of boats to accommodate them. In a preface to this
story, written in the year 1888, I make the following
remark :

The only part of this humble skit, however, that is meant to
be taken seriously is the chapter which tells of the loss of the
R.M.S. Kangaroo. I believe it to be a fair and, in the main,
accurate account of what must and one day will happen upon
a large and crowded liner in the event of such a collision as
that described, or of her rapid foimdering from any other
cause. It is a remarkable thing that people who for the most
part set a sufficient value on their hves, daily consent to go
to sea in ships the boats of which could not on emergency
possibly contain half their number.

During the present year this prophecy, and indeed
the whole scene of the sinking of the Kangaroo, has
been fearfully fulfilled in the instance of the great
White Star liner Titanic. If I could think of and
foresee such things, how is it that those who are
responsible for the public safety have proved them-
selves so lacking in prevision — ^that section of the
Board of Trade, for instance, whose duty it is to
attend to such matters ?

I fear we must seek the answer in the character of
our nation, whose peculiarity it is to ignore or under-
rate dangers that are not immediately visible, and
therefore never to be ready to meet them. If anyone
doubts this, let him study the history of our wars
during the last sixty years or so, and even earlier.
The Crimea, the Abyssinian Expedition, the first Boer
War, the Zulu War, the second Boer War, which was
the child of the last two, the Egyptian Wars, have all
told^the same tale. With the details of three of these

VOL. II.

98 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

I have been acquainted, and they are awful. Only
our wealth has brought us out of them — I will not say
with honour, but in safety. We declare proudly that
' we always muddle through,' but this, after all, is
a boast that only fits the lips of the incompetent.
What will happen when we are called upon to meet
a nation, or nations, of equal or greater strength, that
are competent ? ^ One can only hope for the best,
and that the genius of our people, or of individuals
among them, may carry us through in the future as
it has done in the past. Meanwhile we blunder on.
England, in hves and treasure, pays the bill out of
her ample but not bottomless pocket, and everything
ends in a rocket-burst of decorations conferred amid
the shouts of the devotees of music-halls.

Probably the blame is to be laid at the door of our
national lack of imagination : we cannot embody in
our minds or provide against that of which we have
had no recent experience. We live from hand to
mouth, and think more of the next elections than of
our future as a people and a great Empire, refusing to
bear those small burdens that would make us safe, and
to support statesmen rather than poHticians. Any
who point out these things are cried down as alarmists,
or as persons seeking some personal or party end, since
the petty and the mean always see their own colours
reflected in the eyes of others. Like the large farmer
who confided to me his conviction that I was travel-
ling on my tour of agricultural investigation through
England in search of ‘ free drinks,’ these judge by their
own low standards. ' Free drinks,’ or their equivalent,
is what they want, and therefore must be what you
want, since otherwise why should anyone work for

^ Tins was written in 1912, and has been lying in Messrs. Longmans’ safe
without the author having access to it since that date. — Ed.

ROMANCE-WRITING 99

nothing ? And here comes the sorrow. The little
minds, Shakespeare’s multitude who ‘ suckle fools and
chronicle small beer,’ are in the vast majority. They
have the votes and give power to their chosen. The
rest are but voices crying in the wilderness. Well,
there it is, and doubtless God Almighty knows the way
out. At any rate, it must be a part of His plan, so
why should we grumble ?

Another small instance of imagination being justi-
fied in my own case is to be found in my tale, ‘ Stella
Fregelius,’ where, for the purposes of that mystical
story, I invented an instrument which I called the
‘ aerophone,’ whereby people could speak with each
other across a space of empty air. When I wrote this
story, about the year 1898, neither I nor anyone else
had heard of such a machine. Now I learn that it is
working and patented under the same title, namely,

‘ aerophone,’ and doubtless ere long it wiU be in general
use. It is right, however, that, per contra, I should
chronicle a prophetic failure. In ‘ Doctor Theme ’ I
ventured to suggest that our general neglect of vac-
cination would bring about some outburst of smallpox
such as in past days swept away our forefathers
by the thousand, and still sweeps away uninstructed
peoples. As yet this has not happened, but who can
be bold enough to assert that it will never happen ?

Perhaps the most curious example of a literary
coincidence with which I have been personally con-
cerned is to be found in the case of my story, ‘ Fair
Margaret.’ As it is fully and concisely set out in the
issue of the Spectator of October 19, 1907, I will quote
my letter published in that journal, leaving the reader
to form his own opinion on the matter.

Sir, — ^T he following instance of imagination being verified
by fact may interest students of such matters. Two years

100

THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

or so ago I wrote an historical romance which has recently
appeared under the title of ‘ Fair Margaret. ’ In that romance
the name of the hero is Peter Brome. The father of this
Peter Brome is represented in the tale as having been killed
at Bosworth Field. After the appearance of the book I received
a letter from Colonel Peter Brome Giles, the High Sheriff of
Bucks, asking me where I obtained the particulars concerning
the said Peter Brome. I answered — out of my own head.
Indeed, I distinctly remember inventing the name as being
one that I had never heard, and the fact of the father’s death
on Bosworth Field I introduced to suit the exigences of the
story. In reply to my request for further particulars. Colonel
Brome Giles kindly sent me a letter, from which, in view of the
curious interest of the matter, I am sure he wiU forgive me for
publishing the following extracts.

‘ Your hero’s father was the son of Sir Thomas Brome, the
Secretary of Henry VI. He was, as you relate, killed at
Bosworth, but I never heard they had property in Essex,
but had in Suffolk ^ and Norfolk. . . . One branch of the
family took the bird ’ [that is, as a coat-of-arms] ‘ as you
describe. . . . The father of your hero was the first Peter, and
was born 1437, and was 50 when killed. . . . Since the Peter
of 1437 there have always been Peter Bromes : my father was,
I am, and so is my boy. We assumed Giles in 1761.’

To this I sent the following answer :

' AU I can say is that the coincidence is extremely curious
(for I knew nothing whatsoever of aU this), so much so indeed
that, taken in conjunction with some similar instances which
have occurred to me, almost do I begin to believe in retro-
spective second sight.’

If I may judge from my own experience, such coincidences
(and, as anyone who has read the tale in question will admit,
this is a very remarkable coincidence) are by no means un-
common. Although the particulars are too long to set out,
four times at the very least have they happened to myself in
the case of my own works of imagination. I do not know if

^ My hero’s property was at Dedham, in Essex, a few miles over the
Suffolk border.— H. R. H.

ROMANCE-WRITING loi

any of your readers can suggest an explanation. The odds
against such exact simihtudes seem so tremendous that I
confess I am unable to do so. I am. Sir, etc.,

H. Rider Haggard.

(It almost looks as if Mr. Rider Haggard when he thought
he was inventing was unconsciously receiving random and
accidental brain-waves, d la Marconi, from Colonel Brome
Giles. Was Colonel Brome Giles, we wonder, working at
pedigree questions at the time when Mr. Rider Haggard was
planning his novel ? — Ed., Spectator.)

Another very curious imaginative parallel occurs
in my novel, ‘ The Way of the Spirit.’ In this tale,
the scene of which is laid in Egypt of to-day, I intro-
duced five weird native musicians, whom I named the
Wandering Players, three of whom performed on pipes
and two upon drums. Thrice did the hero, Rupert
UUershaw, meet this band in the deserts of the Sudan,
but never could he speak with them, since they would
answer no questions and accept no baksheesh. They
simply appeared and disappeared mysteriously, and
the sound of their sad music always proved the herald
of misfortune to poor Rupert — ^the suggestion being
that they were not quite canny in their origin. These
musicians were a pure effort of invention so far as I am
concerned. I had never read or heard that any such
folk were supposed to haunt this very desert of which
I was writing.

Imagine, therefore, my astonishment when, in a
copy of his ‘ Notes de Voyage ’ for 1909 which Sir
Gaston Maspero kindly sent me — ' The Way of the
Spirit ’ was written in 1905 — I found the following
passage :

Ces quatre-1^ sont-ils allies aux quatre afrites musiciens,
deux joueurs de flute et deux joueurs de tambourin ou de
darabouka, qui hantent le desert dans les mfimes parages ?

102

THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

Ils jouent sur le passage des voyageurs et c’est toujours un
mauvais presage que de les rencontrer : si on s’^oigne vite
sans leur adresser la parole et, autant que possible, sans les
regarder, on a quelque chance d’^chapper au mauvais sort,
sinon Ton est perdu.

It wiU be observed that here everything is the
same, mise en scene, misfortune, aU. There is but
one difference. Of Sir Gaston’s afrites, or musical
ghosts, there were four ; of my wandering players, five.

I have added a third flutist by way of interest on the
capital of the true legend.

Perhaps these examples of literary coincidence in
my own books may suffice, though I think there are
more. Indeed I recall two in connection with ‘ Heart
of the World ’ and ‘ Ayesha ' respectively, which are
curious enough in their way. Also as I write it comes
back to me that there are yet two others which, as I am
on the subject, I may as well state quite briefly.

The first of these is to be found in ‘ Montezuma’s
Daughter.’ Here the hero, a certain Thomas Wingfield,
is stated to have lived near Bungay in the reign of
Elizabeth, and to have been a doctor by trade, having
learned his business from another leech in this imme-
diate neighbourhood. After many adventures he dies
here a rich man and leaves charities to the poor.
Certainly I did think it strange when, subsequent to
the writing of the book, I discovered from Mr. Herbert
Hartcup, the lawyer, who is a trustee of the Bungay
Charities, that a man called Thomas Wingfield did five
and die at that exact time, that he was a doctor who
served his apprenticeship with another local leech, that
in some way or other he did accumulate wealth of
which he bequeathed a portion to the poor that they
enjoy to this day, and that his will, which I have since
seen, was just such a one as might have been written

ROMANCE-WRITING 103

by the imaginary Thomas. Almost am I tempted to
believe that the true Wingfield must have visited
Mexico in the days of Cort6s, and that, if one were to
dig up his bones, among them would be found the
necklace of great emeralds which was given to him by
Guatemoc in the hiding-place of Montezuma’s treasure.

The last specimen is very simple. While visiting
an old church in Suffolk I conceived the idea of my
novel, ‘ Joan Haste,’ of which it is unnecessary to set
out the plot. After reading it a connection of mine
remarked that he had been much interested by the
book, though he did not think that the A.-Z.’s, whom
he knew well, would altogether appreciate such an
accurate report of a passage in their family history
whereof they did not often speak. Also he was nervous
lest it should be supposed by them that he had told
me a story which was communicated to him in con-
fidence. On further investigation it transpired that
these A.-Z.’s were buried in the very churchyard where
I had imagined my tale, and that their family owned
and still own all the land by which it is surrounded.

It needs no great stretch of fancy to believe that
in some subtle way the bones beneath the soil of that
churchyard had imparted some of their history to my
mind while, touched by the place, I stood there evolving
the material for another book.

Before I finally leave the subject of romance-writing
I should like to say a few words upon a certain point.
I have been a good deal attacked because there is much
fighting in many of my more imaginative works, which
fighting necessarily involves the death of men, the
inference being that to write of such things is not
desirable. I would ask. Why not ? However painful
the fact, it remains true that man is a fighting animal,
and that from the time of Homer down, and probably

104 the days of my LIFE

for tens of thousands of years before it, some of his
finest qualities — such as patriotism, courage, obedience
to authority, patience in disaster, fidelity to friends
and a noble cause, endurance, and so forth — ^have been
evolved in the exercise of war, as we need go no further
than the pages of the Old Testament to learn. Is it
not better to write of hard, clean, honest fighting than,
for instance, of treacherous and sickening murder ?
Will any young man be the worse for the lesson that
his hands were given him to defend his head, and, if
need be, his country’s honour, with that of aU who are
dear to him ? I think not.

It is true that in such a book as ' Nada the Lily '
there is much slaughter. But all this is a matter of
history. A tale of the days of Chaka which left out
his sla5dngs and battles would be false to the facts and
merely ludicrous. Omelets cannot be made without
the breaking of eggs. Would such critics then argue
that this tale and others like it should be left untold ?
If so, I hold that they are wrong, since these give a
picture which, from the circumstances of my youth,
perhaps I alone in the world can paint, not only of
some very remarkable men, but of a state of savage
society which has now passed away and may never
recur.

Further, is there not some hypocrisy in such cavil-
ling in an age when all the great nations of the world
are arming themselves to the teeth for that Armageddon
which one day must come ? And do not some of the
very papers in which it appears fiU their columns with
nauseous and most particular accounts of dreadful and
degrading crimes, such as the betrayal and butchery
of a defenceless woman, dilating on them from day to
day till the reader is sickened ? Of which is it the more
harmful to read — of a fight between the splendid Zulu

ROMANCE-WRITING 105

impis, faithful to death ; of old Umslopogaas holding
the stair against overpowering odds ; or, let us say, of
the dismemberment of a wife or the massacre of little
children by some human brute or lunatic ?

Personally I hate war, and all killing, down to the
destruction of the lower animals for the sake of sport,
has become abominable to me. But while the battle-
clouds bank up I do not think that any can be harmed
by reading of heroic deeds or of frays in which brave
men lose their lives.

What I deem undesirable are the tales of lust, crime,
and moral perversion with which the bookstalls are
strewn by dozens.

CHAPTER XVII

POLITICS AND TOWN LIFE

H. R. H.'s political views — Bred a Tory — Cross-bench mind — Strong Im-
perialist — Asked to stand for King's Lynn — Declined — Co-director of
African Review — Undertook later to contest East Norfolk — Difficult
constituency for Conservative — Beaten by 198 votes — Stood in the
agricultural interest — Specially interested in S. African affairs — Cecil
Rhodes — Retired from African Review — Death of H. R. H.'s father —
Elected chairman of local bench — Major Burnham — Some of his adven-
tures — Major Cheyne.

Ever since I came to manhood I have taken an interest
in politics, though at first it was the foreign branch of
the subject that attracted me most. Like most country
squires my father was a Tory to the backbone, and,
although one of them broke away, all his sons were
brought up in the strictest sect of that somewhat
fossilised creed. People generally remain in the political
fold wherein they chance to be bom, much as they
generally remain Protestants or Roman Catholics, or
Wesleyans or Unitarians, according to the faith of their
fathers. Now I understand that I never was a real
Tory — ^that, in short, as a party man I am the most
miserable failure. As a politician I should have been
useless from any whip’s point of view. He would —
well, have struck me off his list as neither hot nor cold,
as a dangerous and undesirable individual who, refusing
to swallow the shibboleths of his tribe with shut eyes,
actually dared to think for himself and to possess that
hateful thing, ‘ a cross-bench mind.'

106

POLITICS AND TOWN LIFE 107

I believe in conscription. I think it would be the
grandest gift that Heaven could give to Britain ; that
it would lighten the terrible burden of anxiety which
haunts many of us ^ by at least one-half ; that it would
make men of tens of thousands among us who are now
but loafers without ambition, without prospects, save
such as the relief that State or private charity may
afford ; that it would inculcate patriotism and the
sense of discipline, lacking which every country must
in time come to an inglorious end. Indeed my greatest
grudge against Mr. Balfour and his colleagues is that
they did not take the opportunity given to them during
the dark days of the South African War to introduce this
reform, which would then, I believe, have been passed
without a murmur. Of course I understand that they
feared lest a bold step of the sort should tell against
them at the polls. How superfluous were their fears
was shown by the ultimate disaster to which their
do-nothing policy led the party at last. At the best,
failure was in front of them ; and it would have been
better to fail with something done, if such should prove
their fate, leaving a great name behind them which
ere long their country would have crowned with the
honour it deserved.

These are sentiments which, however much they
were disapproved of by the party manager on the himt
for votes, would, if adequately presented, probably
provoke a cheer from a Conservative audience. But
suppose that I were the speaker on such an occasion,
and followed them up by stating that I had grave
misgivings as to the authorised programme of Pro-
tection, alias Tariff Reform ? Suppose I pointed out
that in my view, which is possibly quite erroneous,
duties on food-stuffs are scarcely practicable in this

1 Written in 1912.

io8 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

land of city dwellers, who not unnaturally object to
paying more for the necessaries of life, as, however
moderate those duties might be, the British middle-
man would be careful to see they did ? Suppose,
further, that I showed what I take to be an unanswer-
able fact, that any scheme of Tariff Reform which
omitted duties on food-stuffs would result in the final
ruin of British agriculture, and in the consequent
progressive deterioration of the race, what would the
Conservative Party say then ? That they had no
use for me, I imagine !

In the same way, what place is there in politics for
a man like myself who has the most earnest sympathies
with the poor and who desires to advance their lot in
every reasonable way, but who loathes and detests
the Radical method of attempting to set class against
class, and of aiming all their artillery at the middle
section of society — the real prop of the race — for the
reason that it is Conservative in its instincts and votes
against them at the polls ? Again, what would be
thought of one who, posing as a member of the Tory
party, yet earnestly advocated the division of the land
amongst about ten times as many as hold it at present,
thereby spoiling a great many great estates, and often
enough interfering with the interests and pleasures of
those who shoot and hunt, or who seek this road to
social success ? Assuredly for such a one there is no
standing-room upon any of our political platforms.
‘ Away with him 1 ’ would be the cry. Therefore he
must be content to remain outside, doing whatever
work may come to his hand which he conceives to be
clean and, in however humble a measure, useful. It
is hard to be an out-and-out party politician and yet
remain honest — or at least some of us find it so, though
the consciences of others are more accommodating.

POLITICS AND TOWN LIFE 109

Perhaps, however, this saying is not true in every
sense, since some minds cannot consider a subject in
aU its aspects ; to them light has but a single colour.
What they want to believe, that they believe.

Such are the views to which I have attained at my
present age. Five-and-twenty years ago, even fifteen
years ago, they were different. For then I stiU smarted
from the whip of Mr. Gladstone’s Colonial policy, and
had less practical experience of social questions than
I have to-day. The great wrongs which Radicals were
capable of working upon loyal Englishmen to serve
their party interests dominated my mind. In short,
Mr. Gladstone turned one who in all essentials would
have been a moderate Liberal into an Imperialist who
made the mistake, that is common to those who ‘ think
in continents,’ of underrating the needs and circum-
stances of the Home Country. The Empire is very
large and England is very smill. So is the heart small
in proportion to a great body, but after aU it is an
important organ, and if it becomes diseased or stops —
what happens to the body ? Even to-day, when the
Colonies are more powerful than they were a score of
years ago, they would find this question awkward to
answer, since there are peoples who, in such an event
as the stoppage of our national heart, might be anxious
to possess themselves of a limb or two of that weakened
or paralysed body. Indeed, as we see by many signs,
this is a fact whereof the Dominions have become
painfully aware in these latter days. Realising that
an empire cannot be kept together merely by taxing
the Mother Country’s goods and affording homes for
such of her surplus population as it suits them to
receive, they now show themselves eager to adopt a
scheme of Imperial Preference and to bear some share
of the cost of her armaments. There they are surely

THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

wise, since if England falls, say within the next fifty
years, then — God help these half-empty lands, one of
which at least has been reduced to the strange expedient
of offering a money bonus for every child born within
its coasts !

In the future, however, all this may change ; it is
even possible that they may become the protectors of
the worn-out and decrepit parent from which they
sprang. Ahsit omen !

My first chance of entering Parliament occurred in
1893, when, in consequence of some speeches that I had
made and certain letters I had written in the papers,
I was asked if I would contest King’s Lynn. I declined
because of the expense and the difficulty of getting
backwards and forwards between my home and the
borough, since this was before the day of motors.
Herein I was foolish, that is if I wished to enter politics,
since I think I could have won that seat easily enough,
and it would have been much less costly to fight and
hold than is a county constituency.

A couple of years later the question arose again.
By this time, as I have explained, I was utterly weary
of a retired life and of the writing of books, from which
I sought eagerly for some avenue of escape.

My letters in The Times on matters connected with
South Africa had attracted some notice, and as a result
I was again brought into contact with those interested
in the affairs of that country. Ultimately I was
elected Chairman of the Anglo-African Writers’ Club,
a pleasant and useful dining society that is now
defunct. Also I became co-director of a weekly paper
called the African Review, which some years ago was
absorbed by another journal. It was a very good paper
of its sort — too good for the market to which it appealed
— and run on the most straightforward lines. The end

Ill

POLITICS AND TOWN LIFE

of these activities was that, greatly daring, I entered
into a partnership with nay fellow-director, who was
a financier in the African naarket, with whom it was
understood that I should stand for Parliament, with
the general idea of giving my attention to African
affairs in the House of Commons.

Mercifully the thing miscarried, for had it been
otherwise I might have had to bear upon my shoulders
much of the burden of the Parliamentary defence of
the inspirers and perpetrators of the Jameson Raid,
which would have been neither a pleasant nor an easy
task.

The constituency which I was weak enough to
undertake to contest was, and still remains, one of the
most difficult in the kingdom from the Conservative
point of view — ^namely. East Norfolk. In the old days
before the lowering of the franchise it was represented
by the late Sir Edward Birkbeck, who, however, after
that event was defeated by a majority of 440 by
Mr. (now Sir R. J.) Price, a gentleman unconnected with
the county. Seeing the hopelessness of winnin g the
seat, Sir Edward Birkbeck made no further attempt
in that direction, and the late Colonel MacCalmont was
invited to take his place. He came, he saw, and he
retired, like a wise man, leaving me to fill his shoes.

I may as weU state the result at once. I reduced
the adverse majority to 198. Since that time sundry
other Unionists have fought the place, with the result
that on each occasion it has risen. I beheve that at
the last election it reached the grand total of somewhere
about 1200.

My programme was Unionist and Agricultural.
I quote a few lines from the speech which I made
when I was selected as the Conservative candidate,
as it puts my position in a nutshell.

II2

THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

These are the measures that I would suggest as a means
towards that remedial legislation to which you are entitled.
First I am of opinion that the £ 60,000 per annum at present
raised by Land-tax in this country should be kept at home and
should go to the relief of the Poor-rate in the districts in which
it is collected. Secondly I would advocate that foreign barley
coming into this country, unless it be crushed barley to be
used as food for cattle, should be subjected to an import duty.
Such a duty could in no way raise the price of food-stuffs, for
men do not eat barley, and even when it was at nearly double
its present cost, the price of beer was very much what it is to-day.
But I do not suggest that the millions of money to be raised
by such a tax should go into the pockets of the landlords.
I suggest that it should go into the pockets of the people ;
I suggest that every farthing of it should be devoted to a
most truly democratic end, to the end of an Old Age Pension
Scheme. This, I think, might be worked through the aid of
the present Friendly Societies. I think that through this
means the State might be able to put down an extra shilling
for every shilling that has been saved by individual industry
and invested with those Societies, and might thereby save
many a deserving man from penury and the workhouse
whose only crime against society is that he has grown old
and feeble in its service. I suggest again that a bill should
be passed to relieve pure beer of a proportion of the taxation
upon it, and to impose that proportion of taxation so remitted
on impure beer — that is, beer made of other materials than
malt and hops. I propose again that foreign flour should be
taxed. In saying this I do not wish to be misunderstood.
I do not wish to see an impost put upon food-stuffs — let the
com come in free by aU means, I say, but do not let it come
in free in a manufactured condition. Why should not our
miUers have the benefit of the grinding of that com ? Why
should not our farmers have the benefit of the offal and other
products ?

I think that is enough to quote, for, oh ! what
dreary things are old political speeches. Not for five
shillings would I read through all the columns of

POLITICS AND TOWN LIFE 113

this one of mine that once upon a time seemed
to me about the most important thing in the whole
world !

I hope, however, that the reader will note the
allusion to Old Age Pensions. Now these have come
about, but on easier terms than I suggested. The
Protective part of my policy was moderate enough
and, I think, would have been useful. But it did me
more harm than good, since what I had said was of
course distorted in the usual fashion.

The fight raged for some months and was very
severely contested, especially during the last six weeks
or so after the Government had gone out, which I spent
on board a wherry cruising from part to part of that
wide and awkward constituency. I believe there are
persons who take to wherrying as a pastime, but so
unpleasant are my associations with that form of
locomotion that never would I again willingly set foot
upon one of those lumbering boats. Sometimes I had
to address three meetings a day, and always there was
one or more, besides innumerable visits and much
letter-writing. My old friend Arthur Cochrane was
my companion in this adventure, as in many others,
and nobly did he work.

The burden of the meetings and, still worse, of the
smoking concerts fell mostly on us two, for, a General
Election being in progress, but little help was forth-
coming from outside. I would speak for half an hour
or forty minutes to an audience mainly composed of
agricultural labourers, some of whom — ^they were nearly
all partisans of the other side — were wont to express
their active dislike of me and my opinions by making
hideous noises resembling those of the lower animals
in pain. One man used to follow me about and ‘ baa ’
like a sheep in the front row. He only stopped when

114 the days of my life

Cochrane began his coinic songs, which I suppose
appealed to such intelligence as he possessed.

I think these comic songs were the most popular
part of the proceedings. Also they were necessary, as
my opponent was a master of this form of entertain-
ment and was said to owe much of his popularity to
a ditty called ‘ The Baby on the Shore.' Alas ! in
this matter I could not hope to compete with him.
When the meeting was over my wife and I, with
Cochrane and some other ladies, used to emerge and
face the booing without, which sometimes was accom-
panied by hustling and stone-throwing.

The odd thing is that, but for an accident, or rather
a piece of carelessness, I should, I believe, have won
after all. When I was making my tour of the con-
stituency on the day of the election I called in at the
head office at Yarmouth and chanced to notice a huge
pile of letters which stood as high as the writing-desk
in the room — there must have been several hundreds
of them. I asked the agent what they were. He
replied with some hesitation that they were poUing-
cards returned by the Dead Letter Office marked ‘ Not
known.’ It seemed that the addresses of the out-
voters had not been checked for years, and therefore
these persons, of whom practically every one, as
owners of property and Conservatives, would have
voted for me, had never received my poUing-card and,
consequently, did not put in an appearance. More-
over, there were individuals in the constituency itself
who did not receive their polling-cards, while other
out-voters who did receive them were sent to the wrong
polling-places, and arrived there too late to reach the
stations at which their votes could be legally recorded.
I remember a piteous letter from a gentleman who had
travelled all the way from Cornwall, reaching Norwich

POLITICS AND TOWN LIFE 115

somewhere about 7 p.m., only to discover that he must
vote at Yarmouth within an hour, which of course he
was unable to do. When one considers how com-
paratively small was the number of votes necessary
to turn the scale in my favour, it is easy to understand
what this blundering meant to me. Still, for reasons
that I have already given, I do honestly believe that
all was for the best.

Although I might have done so more than once,
never again have I stood for Parliament. To tell the
truth, the whole business disgusts me with its atmo-
sphere of falsehood, or at the least of prevarication,
and its humiliating quest of support. In such struggles
in Britain there is, it is true, little actual corruption,
but of indirect corruption there is still a great deal.
From the moment a candidate appears on the field
he is fair game, and every man’s hand is in his pocket.
Demands for ' your patronage and support ' fall on
him, thick as leaves in Vallombrosa. I remember
that I was even pestered to supply voters with wooden
legs ! Why should an election in a county division
cost, as this one did, something over £2000 in all ?

Some years before this time my brother Alfred
conceived the plan of obtaining some great concession
of land and minerals from Lobengula. He was, I
recoUect, angry with me because I would not enter into
his scheme with enthusiasm, and I think has never
quite forgiven me my backwardness. But I knew
a good deal about the Matabele ; also I held that
Lobengula would never grant him what he wanted
xmless it was wrung from him by force of arms. In-
deed I am convinced to this day that no one except
Cecil Rhodes, with his vast command of money, could
have dispossessed this t3nrant and annexed those great
territories.

ii6 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

I did not know Cecil Rhodes in Africa, where we
never crossed each other’s paths ; indeed I think he
arrived there only towards the end of my time. We
first met in London, I believe somewhere about the
year 1888, when I was asked to meet him at the
National Liberal Club. At that time he was little
known ; I do not think that I had ever heard of him
before. He impressed me a good deal, and I remember
his explaining to me in great detail the provisions of
a measure he was introducing into the Cape Parliament
— I think it was the Glen Grey Act — ^in such detail,
indeed, that I lost the thread of the thing and grew
bewildered. Rhodes could rarely be persuaded to
write a letter, but my recollection is that he could talk
at a great pace when he was in the mood.

Wdien he was in England, just before the Jameson
Raid, I saw Rhodes several times, for it was then that
the African people were anxious that I should stand
for Parliament. I remember going to breakfast with
him at the Burlington Hotel. He was then at the
height of his success, and the scene was very curious.
Already before breakfast a number of people, some of
them well known, who were not asked to that meal,
were waiting about in ante-rooms on the chance of
getting a word with or a favour from the great man.
It reminded me of a picture I have seen of Dr.
Johnson and others hanging about in the vestibule of,
I think. Lord Chesterfield’s apartment for a like object.
There was the same air of patient expectancy upon
their faces. In a china bowl on a table I observed
a great accumulation of unopened letters, most of
which had a kind of society look about them ; probably
they were invitations and so forth. It was, I have
understood, one of the habits of the Rhodes entourage
not to trouble to open letters that came by post.

POLITICS AND TOWN LIFE 117

Unless these were of known importance they only
attended to those that were sent by hand, or to tele-
grams, and the replies were generally verbal or tele-
graphic. Perhaps this was owing to press of business,
or perhaps to a pose, or to a combination of both.

The last time that I ever saw Rhodes must have
been about a year later, probably when he was in
England after the Jameson Raid affair. I went to
call on him on some matter — I entirely forget what it
was — at the Burlington Hotel, and found him alone.
We talked for a long while, though again I forget the
subject of our conversation. What I remember is the
appearance of the man as he paced restlessly up and
down the long room like a lion in a cage, throwing
out his words in jerky, isolated sentences, and in a
curious high voice that sometimes almost attained to
a falsetto. He gave me the idea of being in a very
nervous state, as I dare say was the case.

His was one of those big, mixed natures of which
it is extremely difficult to form a just opinion. My
own, for what it is worth, is that he loved his country
and desired above all things to advance her interests ;
also that he was personally very ambitious. He set
great ends before himself and went to work to attain
them at any cost. To begin with, he saw that money
was necessary, so he rubbed shoulders with speculators,
with Jews, with anybody who was useful, and by means
of this deal or that deal made the money, not for its
own sake, but that he might use it to fulfil the purposes
of his busy and far-reaching brain. He outwitted
Kruger ; he destroyed the Matabele ; he seized the
vast territories of Rhodesia, and persuaded the British
public to find him the gold wherewith to finance them,
most of which the British public has, I imagine, lost.
But the Empire has gained, for Rhodesia does not

ii8 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

run away, like the capital, in over-financed and un-
remunerative companies. One day it may be a great
asset of the Crown, if the Imperial possessions hold
together.

It would almost seem as though Rhodes was one
of those men who have been and stiU are raised up by
that Power, of the existence of which he seems to have
been dubious, to fulfil certain designs of Its own.
There have been a good many with somewhat similar
characteristics. Alexander, Caesar, Napoleon, Chaka,
come to my mind as I write. Roosevelt, though his
is a finer mind, may or may not prove another ; at
the moment it rather looks as though his cards were
played ; but who knows ?

Had it not been for Rhodes I incline to the belief
that the Germans would have taken Rhodesia, perhaps
after a preliminary occupation by the Boers. That
danger, I think, was present to his thoughts and was
one of the reasons which induced him to strike, and
strike hard, caring nothing for the blood that splashed
up from the blow. In the same way he wished to
seize the Transvaal by a coup de main, or rather a
coup d’^pie, but here he miscalculated the strength of
the opposing forces. Or perhaps, as he himself said,
Jameson — ^whom I also knew and who possesses, I
think, in some ways a higher nature than did Rhodes —
upset his ‘ apple-cart.' At least, whatever his faults,
he was a great figure in his generation, and his name
must always be remembered if only by that of the vast
territory he seized, which he still surveys from his
tomb-eyrie on the Matoppos.

Rhodes had his weaknesses, like other men. A few
years ago I was staying with Lord Carrington, now the
Marquis of Lincolnshire. He told me a little story
with reference to Rhodes’ declaration, which Lord

POLITICS AND TOWN LIFE 119

Carrington said he had often made, to the effect that
he would accept no title or favour from Royalty. They
were both of them commanded to Windsor at the same
time, and Lord Carrington gave me a lively description
of the intense amusement of the company when the
late Queen came down to dinner and in a very marked
manner asked one of the gentlemen-in-waiting whether
he had been careful to see that the ' Right Honourable
gentleman,’ pointing to Cecil Rhodes, had been made
comfortable in every way, thereby indicating the con-
ferring of a Privy Councillorship upon him, which he
had not refused.

My City labours endured but for nine months, after
which time I was delivered. During those tumultuous
days I toiled in a fine office in London, where thousands
were talked of as of no account. It was the period
of the great African boom, and the business machine
hummed merrily. We made money, I remember ; also
we lost money. But it was aU much too speculative
and nerve-racking for me, while the burden of those
companies weighed upon my mind heavily. The true-
bred City man cares httle for such things, which to
him are all part of the day’s work, as writing a
chapter of a book might be to me. He is accustomed
to take risks, and an adept at getting out of difficult
situations.

At last came a time in my own instance when my
partner, an excellent and very able gentleman in his
own way and one for whom I retain the most friendly
feelings, announced that he m*eant to depart to South
Africa for a year or so, leaving me to conduct all the
extremely intricate affairs with which he was connected.
This was too much for me, and then and there I had the
presence of mind to strike.

All men make mistakes, but afterwards, so far as

120

THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

my observation goes, they may be divided into two
classes : those who know when to get out of them, and
those who do not.

Well, in this case I had sufficient sense and courage
to appreciate my mistake and to retire while there
was yet time. Of course there was some difficulty, as
under the deed of partnership I was bound for a
period. But, when he saw that I was determined to
go, my partner behaved very weU and kindly signed
a dissolution.

I should add that the period which this chapter
covers was marked by several events that were more
or less important to me. In 1893 my dear father died
as the result of a chiU which he caught in waiting about
for the poU to be declared at an election in cold weather.
It was sad to see a man of his great strength and energy
fading away and becoming so subdued and gentle,
qualities which were not natural to him. After one
extraordinary recovery from the jaundice, or whatever
it was that had attacked him, believing himself to be
strong again, he began to travel and pay visits in
winter, and thus brought on a return of his ailment.
I was not actually present at his death-bed, as I could
only reach Bradenham on the following day. He left
me one of his executors and, as he was dying, told our
old servant Hocking to give me his watch and chain,
which I think had been his father’s before him. I have
it now, still marking the hour at which it ran down
under his pillow on that night. His last words, spoken
almost as he expired, were :

' God is ever3rwhere ! He is in this room, is He
not ? ’

He looked fine and peaceful in death ; as I think
I have said, he was very handsome, and in many ways
a remarkable man. I never knew anyone who resembled

Mk. W. M. K. Haggard
Nov. 3, 1880

POLITICS AND TOWN LIFE 121

him in the least or who was the possessor of half his
energy. God rest him !

SirTheophilus Shepstone died in the same year, and,
I think, at almost exactly the same age. I mourned
my old chief very sincerely.

In 1893 or the previous year I was elected Chair-
man of my local bench of magistrates, an ofi&ce which
I have filled ever since. Indeed, when I wished to
resign it the other day, on my appointment to the
Dominions Royal Commission, that, aU being well, will
necessitate long absences from England during which
I shall be unable to attend to the business of the bench,
my colleagues unanimously requested me to retain the
position and appointed my old friend and neighbour,
Captain Meade of Earsham HaU, to act for me when
I was away. I was touched at this evidence of their
regard and confidence.

In 1895 the Committee did me the honour to elect
me to the Athenaeum Club under Rule 2, and in the
following year I was chosen Chairman of Committee
of the Society of Authors, a post which I held tiU 1898.

About this time I made the acquaintance of one of
the most interesting of all my friends. Major F. R.
Burnham, D.S.O., concerning whom and whose career
I should like to say a few words. Burnham is an
American, bom among the Indians on the frontiers of
Minnesota in 1861, and one of the best specimens of
that great people whom I have ever met. Indeed,
taking him altogether, I am not sure that when the
circumstances of his upbringing and life are considered,
he is not the most remarkable man whom it has been
my privilege to know. He belongs to the seventh
generation of pioneers, as his family went to America
from England in 1635.

In personal appearance he is small and quiet-

122 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

mannered, with steady, grey-blue eyes that have in
them a far-away look such as those acquire whose
occupation has caused them to watch continually at
sea or on great plains. He does not smoke, fearing,
as he told me, lest it should injure the acuteness of his
sense of smell, and he drinks less liquid perhaps than
anyone else. One wineglass of water, or perhaps claret,
is the amount he will consume during a long meal. He
has trained himself to this abstinence in order that,
when scouting or travelling where there is no water,
he may still be able to exist, with the result that on one
occasion at least he survived when aU or nearly all
his companions died, I think in the deserts of Arizona.
He is not at aU communicative ; indeed I remember his
telling me that I was one of the very few people to
whom he had imparted any information concerning
his many adventures.

When he was in England Charles Longman was very
anxious that he should write his Life, but although he
offered him a handsome sum on account and, to my
knowledge, Burnham at the time was not too well
supplied with money, in spite of my entreaties and
offers of assistance, this, to my lasting regret, he
absolutely refused to do. Therefore, if he still lives, as
I believe to be the case — although somewhat to my
surprise I have heard nothing from him for the last
three or four years— when he dies the record of all his
extraordinary adventures, of which he has experienced
more in fact than Allan Quatermain himself in fiction,
wiU, I fear, perish with him. Of those adventures, of
course, I can only repeat a few specimens from memory,
as he has told them to me walking about the land or
sitting together over the fire in this house.

' His first recollection is of being carried away by
his mother when the savage Indians attacked the place

POLITICS AND TOWN LIFE 123

where they lived, somewhere on the Mexican border.
He was then about three years old, and at last his
mother, unable to bear him any farther, hid him in
a shock of maize, telling him that he must keep quite
silent. From between the stalks of the maize presently
he saw the pursuing Indians pass. Next day his
mother returned and rescued him.

Later on, as a married man, he formd his way
with some members of his family to Rhodesia, attracted
by the magic name of Cecil Rhodes, and took part in
the settlement of that colony. Prospecting and the
management of mines were their occupations. Here
his little girl was bom, the first white child that saw
the light in Buluwayo. He named her Nada after the
heroine of my Zulu tale. Poor infant, she did not live
long, as the following dedication to one of my stories
shows :

To the Memory of the Child
Nada Burnham

who ‘ bound all to her ’ and, while her father cut his
way through the hordes of the Ingubu Regiment,
perished of the hardships of war at Buluwayo on
May 22nd, 1896, I dedicate this tale of Faith trium-
phant over savagery and death.

Burnham was with Wilson when he was wiped out
on the banks of the Shangani, together with all his.
companions, except Burnham himself and his brother-
in-law, Ingram, who had been sent back to try to
bring help from the column. All that tale I have told
in the ‘ Red True Story Book ’ (Longmans), so I need
not repeat it here. I shall never forget Burnham's
account of how he tracked the missing men in the
darkness, by feeling the spoor with his fingers and by
smell, or of how, still in the darkness, he counted the

124 the days of my life

Matabele impi as they passed him close enough to
touch them.

Subsequently Burnham took service as a scout
under our flag in the Boer War. Indeed I believe that
Lord Roberts cabled to him in the Klondike. Here
many things befell him. Thus he was out scouting from
Headquarters at the time of the Sannah’s Post affair,
saw the Boers post their ambuscade, saw the British
walking into the trap. He rode to a hill and, with
a large red pocket-handkerchief which he always
carried, tried to signal to them to keep back. But
nobody would take the slightest notice of his signals.
Even the Boers were puzzled by so barefaced a per-
formance, and for quite a long while did not interfere
with him. So the catastrophe occurred — ^because it
was nobody’s business to take notice of Burnham’s
signals ! Ultimately some Boers rode out and made
him a prisoner. They led him to a stone-walled cattle
kraal where a number of them were ensconced, whence
he saw everything. '

When the British were snared a Boer lad took some
sighting shots at them, and at length said laconically,
‘ Sechzen hondert ! ’ whereon the Boers sighted their
rifles to that range and began to use them with deadly
effect. A whole battery of English guns opened fire
upon this kraal. The air screamed with shells. Some
feu short and exploded against the wall ; some went
high, some hit upon the top of the waU. The net result
of that terrific bombardment was — one horse blown to
bits. The practice was not bad, but those behind the
waU remained quite comfortable.

When everything was over Burnham was taken off
as a prisoner. A change of guard enabled him to
pretend a wound, so he was placed on an ox-waggon.
He sat on the fore-part of the waggon, and just before

POLITICS AND TOWN LIFE 125

day the guards nodding in their saddles gave him the
chance to drop down between the wheels, letting the
wagon trek away over him. Then he roUed himself into
a little gully near the road, and, as he dared not stand
up, lay cooking there during the whole of the following
day with the fierce sun beating on his back. When
night came again he walked back to the English camp,
a distance of nearly a hundred miles, and reported
himself.

This exploit was equalled, if not surpassed, by one
of my sons-in-law. Major Reginald Cheyne of the Indian
Army. He was posted on a ridge with a few men in
one of the affairs of this war when an overwhelming
force of Boers opened fire on them. He held out until
aU but two of those with him were dead or wounded and
the ammunition — even of the wounded — exhausted.
Then, having been shot through the face behind the
nose, in another part of the head, and also cut by
a bullet all along the forehead, which caused the blood
to flow down into his eyes and blind him, he sur-
rendered. He was taken prisoner, and in this dreadful
state carried off in a waggon. At night he pretended
that it was necessary for him to retire. The Boer
guard showed him his revolver, which he tapped signifi-
cantly. Cheyne nodded and, taking his risks, made
a bolt for it. In due course he, too, staggered into the
British camp, where he recovered. I hope I have the
details right, but Cheyne, like Burnham, is not given
to talking of such things. It was only after much
urging on the part of my daughter that he told me the
story, of which I had heard rumours from a brother
officer, who spoke of him as ‘ a hero.’ He was recom-
mended, together with his Colonel, for a V.C. or a
D.S.O. — I forget which — ^but, unfortunately for him,
the Boers captured and burnt the despatch, so that

126 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

nothing was known at home of his services until too
late. However, they made him a brevet-major. Such
are the fortunes of war.

After Pretoria was occupied Burnham was sent out
to cut the railway line by which the Boers were retreat-
ing. He exploded part of his gun-cotton and destroyed
the line, and then rode over a ridge — straight into
a Boer bivouac ! He turned his horse and, lying fiat
on the saddle, galloped off under a heavy fire. He
thought he was safe, but the Boers had got his range
against the skyline — it was night — and suddenly he
remembered no more. When he came to himself the
sun was shining, and he lay alone upon the veld. The
horse was gone, where to he never learned. He felt
himself all over and found that he had no wound, also
that he was injured internally, probably owing to the
horse falling on him when it was struck by a bullet.
Near by was a little cattle or goat kraal, into which he
crept and lay down. From this kraal he saw the Boers
come and mend the line. When night fell again he
crawled upon his hands and knees — ^he could not walk —
down to the line and destroyed it afresh, for his gun-
cotton cartridges remained in a bag upon his shoulders.
I am not certain whether he did this once or twice. At
any rate in the end, feeling that he was a dead man if
he remained where he was, he tore up the bag, tied the
sacking round his wrists and knees, and, thus protected
against the stones and grass stumps, dragged himself
out into the veld, where, by the mercy of Providence,
an English patrol found him. It turned out that his
stomach had been ruptured, and that, had it not been
for his long abstinence from food, he must have expired.
No treatment could possibly have been better for him,
and as it was the break in the tissues found time to heal.
In the end he recovered, though that was the last service

POLITICS AND TOWN LIFE 127

which he did in South Africa. It was rewarded with
a D.S.O. and the rank of major in the British Army.
Lord Roberts gave him a remarkable letter of thanks
and appreciation : it sets forth his admiration of
Burnham’s skill, endurance and ability in difficult
scouting inside the lines of the enemy.

Burnham told me that during that war on many
occasions he passed through the sentries of both the
British and the Boer forces without being seen. Once
he penetrated into a Boer camp and came to a waggon
where a fat old Dutchman lay snoring. To the trek-
tow were tied sixteen beautiful black oxen, no doubt
that Dutchman’s especial pride. With his knife he
cut them loose and drove them away back into the
British lines. Often, he told me, he had speculated
as to what the old Boer said when he woke up and
found them gone for ever. On another occasion when
he was scouting he was absolutely surrounded by the
Boers and could find no cover in which to hide. With
the help of an old Kaffir blanket and a stick he made
himself up as a beggar and limped away between them
without even being questioned.

In all such matters he seems to possess a kind of
sixth sense, evolved no doubt in the course of his long
training in Indian warfare. He was one of the pioneers
in the Klondike, whither he travelled across the winter
snows on a sledge drawn by dogs, which for some weeks
were his sole companions. These dogs he watched
very closely, and as a result of his observations informed
me that he was sure from their conduct at night that
they possessed some elementary instinct of prayer.
His reasons are too long to set out, but they were very
striking.

In Rhodesia he discovered a large amount of
treasure buried in one of the prehistoric ruins and old

128 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

forts, with the skeletons of unknown ancients. I have
a gold bead from it which he gave me, mounted as
a pin ; also some iron arrow-heads which he found
amidst the bones, showing that these men died in an
attack by enemies.

Such are a few of the incidents of Major Burnham's
career. The reader might judge from them that he is
a rough and uncultured man, but this is far from being
the case. Like old Allan Quatermain, he is an ex-
tremely polished and thoughtful person, and one with
an extraordinarily wide outlook on affairs in general.
I remember, for instance, that he took a most lively
interest in parish councils, their constitution and
business. This, after all the vast issues of life and death
in which he had been engaged for many years, struck
me as strange — though, as we know, elephants are
adepts at the picking up of pins.

When I was Commissioner in America in ' 1905 I
stayed with the Burnhams at their charming house in
Pasadena, Los Angeles. After I parted from them
I travelled with another remarkable man, Mr. Hays
Hammond— who was once condemned to death with
Jameson at Pretoria — across America in his private
car, and spoke with him of Burnham. Also I told him
the strange tale of a certain odd gentleman of the name
of Carmichael, now I believe long dead, who thought
that he had discovered the secret of the hidden city
of the Aztecs, that lies somewhere at the back of
Chiapas, in which treasure to the value of three
million sterhng is supposed to have been concealed by
Montezuma on the approach of the Spaniards.^ Think-
ing, from the documentary evidence, that there was

^ This was the sacred treasure held by Montezuma as High Priest, which
it took 1 500 men to carry in bars of gold. It must not be mixed up with the
private royal treasure whereof I have already spoken, that was buried by
Guatemoc — also to save it from the Spaniards. — H.R.H.

POLITICS AND TOWN LIFE 129

something in this tale, a friend and I furnished
Carmichael with a moderate sum of money to enable
him to locate the place. He set out, and after in-
credible hardships found the wrong city, or the wrong
part of the right city, where his Indian carriers deserted
him, leaving him suffering from fever to support life
upon catfish, which he caught with a bent nail. Ulti-
mately he was rescued and brought back to civilisation.

Hays Hammond was so taken with this exciting
narrative that he determined to send Burnham to look
for the Aztec city, and telegraphed to him to come
from San Francisco to New York to see him. Needless
to say, Burnham was quite ready for the adventure,
and followed me to England to get particulars, among
other business. Whilst here a terrible thing befell him.
He had taken a little viUa on the Thames, where he
was living with his wife and a fine little boy, the
brother of the child Nada. One day the boy was
missing. His body was found in the Thames. I was
informed that when Burnham saw it he fell to the
ground senseless as though he had been shot.

Afterwards he returned to America and started to
look for the Aztec city, but was prevented from getting
very far by a rebellion among the Indians. His last
letter to me was written from that district some
four years ago. I answered it, but since then have
heard nothing from him. I do not think that he is
dead, as such news would probably have reached me
one way or another, or Hays Hammond would have
mentioned it when I had a hurried interview with him
at the time of the King’s Coronation, which he attended
as Special Ambassador from the United States. I con-
clude, therefore, that Burnham is probably now engaged
in aU the Mexican fighting that has ensued upon the
deposition of President Diaz, which leaves him no time

VOL. II. K

130 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

for correspondence ; or perhaps he is disinterring the
treasure from the hidden city ! One day I hope that
he will appear again and greet me in his quiet fashion
as though we had parted but yesterday — I mean, of
course, on this bank of the great ‘ Divide.’

CHAPTER XVIII

RURAL ENGLAND

H. R. H. returns to the country— Devotes himself to agriculture—' Farmer’s Year'
— ^Arthur Young — Bradfield Combust — Bobbin — Determines to follow
Arthur Young's example — Agreed with Daily Express for series of articles
on Rural England — Visit to C5rprus and Holy Land — A Winter Pil-
grimage — Rural England journeys — Heaviest labour of H. R. H.'s life —
Arthur Cochrane's help — Hundreds of interviews — Practical results dis-
appointing — Mr. R. W. Hanbury — Agricultural Post — Lord Onslow —
Mrs. Asquith.

My town excitements over I returned to the country
and the writing of books. Oddly enough, I found that
the thorough change of thought seemed to have rested
my mind, with the result that my imagination was
fresher than it had been for some years before. Also
the work itself was and has remained less irksome to
me than during the years 1891 to 1895. Still the desire
haunted me to do something in my day more practical
than the mere invention of romance upon romance.
By degrees it came home to me that a great subject
lay to my hand, that of the state of Enghsh agriculture
and of our rural population, also of aU the questions
thereto pertaining.

So forcefully did it come home that I grew to think
and indeed to believe that I was appointed to serve
my own, and perhaps other countries, by following up
this neglected branch of research which to many has
seemed so useless and so dull. Therefore with a bold
heart I gave aU my spare time and energy to a study
of the matter.

132

THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

First I wrote the book that is called ‘ A Farmer’s
Year,' with the twofold purpose of setting down the
struggles of those who were engaged in agriculture
during that trying time, and of preserving for the
benefit of future generations, if these should care to
read of them, a record of the circumstances of their
lives and of the condition of their industry in England
in the year 1898. In its way this book, which was
first published serially in Longman’s Magazine — ^now,
alas ! defunct, like most of the good magazines of my
early days — ^proved extraordinarily successful. It was
reviewed and quoted everywhere, almost without
exception, with great favour. Also the letters that
poured in upon me concerning it were almost without
number ; they still continue to arrive. But, compared
with my romances, it brought me in but a small amount
of money. For this there were several reasons. It
was published at too low a price — 7s. 6 d . — ^whereby
Charles Longman and I hoped to put it within the
reach of all ; also the charming illustrations by my
friend Mr. Leon Little, of which I have the originals
in this house, involved a good deal of expenditure.

The chief reason, however, is very simple. The
British public as a whole is a nation of town dwellers
and not rural in its tastes. It wants novels to read,
not works that deal with agriculture in however in-
teresting a fashion. He who treats of such subjects
must do so at his own cost and be content to take his
pay in honour and glory. Well, as I never expected
an3d;hing else, I was not disappointed at this lack of
financial results. My objects were, as I have said,
quite different. I set them out so clearly in the little
preface which I wrote some years later for the ' Silver
Library ’ Edition of the work, that I will venture to
quote it here :

RURAL ENGLAND 133

In Ancient Egypt the gentlemen farmers of the Fifth and
Sixth Dynasties whilst yet alive caused their future sepulchres
to be adorned with representations of such scenes of daily life
and husbandry as to them were most pleasant and familiar.

The study of these paintings and reliefs has delighted me
much to-day, as it did when first I visited them in 1887. Whilst
considering them it occurred to me that in this book, by means
of the methods of my own age, I have unconsciously attempted
to follow the example of the authors of these rock-hewn manu-
scripts who lived some fifty centuries ago.

Perhaps, I thought to myself, in times to be, when all is
changed again save the eternal ways of Nature that are the
ways of God, the word-pictures of my pages also may thus
interest and instruct unborn men of tastes akin to mine.

Such is my hope.

It would please me to write another ‘ Farmer’s
Year ’ arranged upon a similar plan, setting forth my
further agricultural experiences throughout an entire
year, now that I farm on a larger scale and more
scientifically than I did, especially in the matter of
milk-production. I greatly doubt, however, whether
at my age and with so much work in front of me, I
shall ever find the opportunity, especially as the pro-
duction of such a book involves constant residence on
one spot from January to December.

I followed up ' A Farmer’s Year ’ by reading a paper
on the Rural Exodus before the Norfolk Chamber of
Agriculture on May 6, 1899, which is printed at the
end of that volume, and moving the following Resolution
that, after discussion, was carried unanimously ;

This Chamber respectfully calls the attention of Her
Majesty’s Government to the continued and progressive
shrinkage of the rural population in the Eastern Counties, and
especially of those adult members of it who are described as
skilled agricultural labourers.

In view of the grave and obvious national consequences

134 the days of my LIFE

which must result if this exodus continues, the Chamber prays
that Her Majesty's Government will as soon as may be con-
venient make its causes the subject of Parliamentary inquiry
and report with a view to their mitigation or removal.

On May 30th in the same year I moved a similar
Resolution before the Central and Associated Chambers
of Agriculture in London where, after criticism and
discussion, it was also unanimously carried.

In January 1900 I went with my family to Florence,
where we stayed with my sister-in-law, Mrs, John
Haggard, whose husband was at that time Consul in
Noumea, whither he could not take his children. It
was the year of the Boer War, and a melancholy
business I found it to spell out the tale of our disasters
in the Italian papers. The Times had asked me if
I would care to go to South Africa as one of their war
correspondents, but this did not strike me as an
attractive business at my age. However, I entered
into another arrangement with Mr. Arthur Pearson,
the owner of the group of papers of which the Daily
Express is the principal. This was that, on the con-
clusion of the war, I should write a series of articles
under the title of ‘ The New South Africa,' which would,
of course, have involved a long journey in that country.
This engagement was never fulfilled, for the reason
that the war dragged on for another two years or so,
before which time the British public was utterly weary
of the subject of South Africa. Upon this ground
Pearson suggested that the contract should be
cancelled.

In the meantime, however, while I was taking my
bath one morning — a domestic occasion on which, for
some reason unexplained, I have observed that I am
more open to new impressions than at any other time —
an idea struck me. It was to the effect that I should

RURAL ENGLAND 135

like to emulate Arthur Young, who more than a century
before had travelled through and written of the state of
agriculture in the majority of the English counties.
Second thoughts showed me that the enterprise was
very vast. It had taken Arthur Young about thirty
years, if I remember right, not to complete it — for this
neither he nor any one else ever did — ^but to deal with
about twenty-six counties, travelling leisurely on horse-
back and for the most part, I think, as an official of
what in those days answered to the present Board
of Agriculture.

I may add that about a year ago I paid a visit
to Arthur Young's home, Bradfield Combust, more
commonly called Burnt Bradfield, near Bury St.
Edmunds, which was then for sale. The house, of
course, is rebuilt, but all the rest — ^park, ancient oaks,
and little lake — ^remain much as they were in his day,
a hundred years ago.

Readers of his Life will remember how he instructed
his delicate daughter — ^who afterwards died, poor
child — ^to walk in certain places, such as in the
Round Garden or on the flagged path where it was
dry — ‘ the little garden where I have so many times
seen her happy.’

There they are to this day, and, standing among
them alone, I could almost re-create the figure of pale
little Bobbin as she obeyed the orders sent from France
in her father’s letters. There, too, is the great avenue
of limes which were, I believe, planted by Mr. Arthur
Young, running from the house across the timbered
grounds to the highway by the church. Here in the
churchyard he the mortal remains of this great man,
for, when his prescience and his patient industry are
taken into account, I think he may fairly be described
as great. In the church, actually underneath his pew.

136 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

is buried his sweet Bobbin, and on a tablet in an annexe
appears a touching memorial inscription to her, which
I regret I had no time to copy. It does not, I think,
appear in the Life by Miss Betham Edwards.

How sadly read his words written at Bradfield in
the year 1800 :

I never come to this place without reaping all the pleasure
which any place can give me now. It is beautiful and healthy,
and is endeared to me by so many recollections, melancholy
ones now, alas ! that I feel more here than an3ws^here else.
Here have I lived from my infancy, here my dear mother
breathed her last, here was all I knew of a sister, and the church
contains the remains of my father, mother, and ever beloved
child ! Here, under my window, her little garden — the shrubs
and flowers she planted — the willow on the island, her room,
her books, her papers. There have I prayed to the Almighty
that I might join her in the next world.

WeU, his sorrows are done and, had she lived the
full life of woman, by now Bobbin’s days would have
been counted out twice over. Let us trust that long
ago her broken-hearted father’s petition has been
granted, and that this pathetic pair once more walk
hand in hand in some celestial garden, never to be
parted more.

If I may venture to compare myself with such a
man, there is a considerable similarity between our
aims and circumstances. We have both been animated
by an overwhelming sense of the vital importance of
British agriculture to this country and its citizens.
We were both East Anglians and bom of the class of
landed gentry or ‘ squires.’ We have both been official
servants of the State. We have both written novels
and much connected with the land. We were both
practical farmers, which many who write on such things
are not, and in the same counties. We were both

RURAL ENGLAND 137

tall, thin, with pronounced features, and possessed
a. nervous temperament and somewhat similar powers
of observation. We both suffered a terrible loss that
saddened our lives, though happily for him the blow
fell in his later days. Both of us have been animated
by the same hopes.

Such are some of the resemblances, and I dare say
others could be found ; for instance, if Young wrote
of rural France, I have written of rural Denmark.
Only I am thankful to say I have been spared his
domestic separations, as I hope I shall be spared
his blindness and the religious mania, or something
approaching it, that darkened his last years.

To return, in the end I determined to cling to my
inspiration and to follow old Arthur Young's example,
if in any way I could manage so to do.

My chance came in connection with this South
African agreement. In answer to Pearson’s suggestion
that it should be cancelled, I requested my agents,
Messrs. A. P. Watt & Sons, to inform him that I was
prepared to agree, on the condition that, in place of it,
he would substitute another — namely, that the articles
should deal with rural England. Otherwise I would
proceed to South Africa, as I had made all my plans
to do. Pearson considered and, in the end, assented.
I do not know that he was particularly anxious to
exploit rural England in the columns of the Daily
Express, but at any rate it was a fresh cry, whereas
that of South Africa had become very stale indeed.

Before speaking of this matter, however, which
only matured in the beginning of 1901, I will return
for a moment to my travels which commenced at
Florence. I had arranged verbally with Moberly Bell
of The Times to visit Cyprus and the Holy Land, and
to write for that journal some articles upon the affairs

138 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

of the Near East. I did visit Cyprus and the Holy
Land, but the articles were never written. For this
reason ; I took with me a nephew, now a respected
lawyer verging on middle age and, I may say, a relative
for whom I have the greatest regard and the warmest
affection, who was to act as my secretary. But if ever
his eye should fall upon these hnes I hope he will not
be offended if I add that then, in the heyday of his
very fascinating and festive youth, he proved the most
erratic secretary with whom I have ever come in
contact. I could never find him when I wanted him,
and as for the heavy typewriter which we dragged
about with us, aU he did with it was to drop it on my
toes out of the rack of a railway train. At last I got
sick of the article, which alone clung to us after he had
lost aU the luggage on the Italian railways, causing us
to proceed to Cyprus with practically nothing but the
clothes in which we stood, and sent it home from that
romantic isle packed in the remains of a mule-saddle,
or something of the sort.

After this there was for a year or two a certain
coolness between me and The Times, which had
never received the promised articles, for of course I
was unable to explain to them the real reason of my
delinquencies. However, my affectionate nephew
enjoyed himself enormously both in Cyprus and the
Holy Land, whither I had taken him because I rmder-
stood that he intended to enter the Church. As we
sailed from Limasol for Be5n:out he said, in a hushed
voice, that he had something to tell me.

‘ Speak up,’ I answered, wondering, with an inward
groan, whether he had engaged himself in marriage to
the barmaid of the Nicosia Club.

It turned out, however, that what he had to confide
was that he had changed his views about entering the

RURAL ENGLAND 139

Church, and up to this point had concealed the matter
for fear lest I should refuse to take him on to the Holy
Land, but spoke now, perhaps because he did not wish
to make the visit sailing under false colours. I reflected
to myself that this bouleversement would be attributed
to my evil influence, but said nothing. It all came
right in the end, as such things do ; and I am bound to
add that, although he did not shine as a secretary,
a trade for which Nature never fashioned him, this dear
nephew of mine was perhaps the pleasantest companion
with whom I ever travelled.

In the intervals of getting him up in the morning
and generally attending to his wants and my own,
I managed to make some notes, out of which I subse-
quently wrote my book, ' A Winter Pilgrimage.’

The Holy Land impressed me enormously, although
it is the fashion of many travellers to say that there
they find nothing but disappointment. But of all
these matters I have written in the ‘ Winter Pil-
grimage,’ so I will say no more about them.

By the way, this ' Winter Pilgrimage ’ is, I think,
unique in one respect ; the first half of it was published
serially after the last had already appeared. The
managers of the Queen newspaper, who had agreed to
bring out all that portion of the book which dealt with
the Holy Land in this form, found the instalments so
popular among their readers that they asked to be
allowed to print the remainder, which dealt with Italy
and C5q)rus.

Before I pass to the subject of ‘ Rural England ’
I wiU dwell for a moment upon my only novel with
a purpose, which appeared about a year previous to
my joumeyings in the Near East. It is called ‘ Doctor
Theme,’ and deals with the matter of the Anti-
Vaccination craze — ^not, it may be thought, a very

140 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

promising topic for romance. I was led to treat of it,
however, by "the dreadful things I had seen and knew
of the ravages of smallpox in Mexico and elsewhere,
and the fear, not yet realised, that they should repeat
themselves in this coimtry. It was a dangerous move.
Said the Lancet :

In conclusion we must commend Mr. Haggard’s courage in
thus entering the lists against the Anti-Vaccination party. As
a novelist and a politician alike it is evidently to his advantage
to take no step that would be likely to alienate from him any
large body of possible supporters. Yet he has risked losing
many readers and creating a fanatical opposition to whatever
he may do in a public or private capacity for the sake of telling
the truth.

Although so different in matter and manner from
my other works, this tale has been widely read, and
will in due course appear in one of those sevenpenny
editions which have become so popular of recent years.
I dedicated it (without permission) to the Jenner
Society. The Executive Committee of this Society
on December 22, 1898, passed a warm and unanimous
resolution thanking me for the work.

Of ‘ Rural England,’ the heaviest labour of aU my
laborious hfe, there is reaUy not very much to say.
There it is. I shah, never forget the remark of my
daughter Dolly, a young lady with a turn for humour,
when these two great volumes — they contain as many
words as would more than fill five novels — ^arrived from
Messrs. Longmans and, portly, blue and beautiful,
stood before us on the table. ‘ My word. Dad ! ’ she
said, ‘ if I had written a book like that, I should spend
the rest of my life sitting to stare at it ! ’

I confess that before all was finished I was inchned
to share in this opinion. What a toil was that ! First
there were the long journeys ; one of them took eight

RURAL ENGLAND 141

months without a break, though, happily, that summer
was very different from this more disastrous year of cold
and floods, 1912. Then there were the articles for the
Daily Express and Yorkshire Post, which must be com-
posed in my spare time, sometimes at midnight, of
which I wrote more than fifty.

I do not think I could have completed the task at
all without the assistance of my friend Mr. Arthur
Cochrane, who took the notes while I did the talking,
and also helped very much in the preparation of the
series of agricultural maps. These maps, I regret to
say,’ it was found impossible to include in the cheaper
edition because of the cost of reproducing them.

But making the investigations was not all. After
these came the writing of the work itself, whereof the
articles only formed the foundation. This occupied
the best part of another year of most incessant and
careful application, for here every fact must be checked.
It was the very antithesis to that involved in the
composition of novels, where the imagination has free
play. Here I may add that of the recorded results
of these hundreds of interviews and statements made
upon the individual authority of the persons seen, or
from observation of the matters investigated, not one
was subsequently questioned. No ; lam wrong. The
manager of the Great Eastern Railway took exception
to some of the carriage rates quoted by an informant,
for which I was not responsible. Also one gentleman
who had invited me to inspect his farm spoke of ' minor
inaccuracies and blemishes ’ in the account I gave
thereof. In nearly twelve hundred closely printed
pages that, I am proud to say, is all.

The work was well received, although of course
there were those who found fault. Everyone has his
own ideas as to how such a thing should be done, though

142 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

those who try to do it are few indeed. I too had my
idea, which was to arrive at the truth out of the mouths
of many witnesses. I desired to set down the facts
as they were at the beginning of the twentieth century,
not as they had been in the past or would possibly be
in the future, or as people with various theories and
political views would like to see them. I wished to
preserve a large body of incontestable evidence for the
benefit of future generations. Since that day things,
I am glad to say, have changed a little — ^not very
much — ^for the better ; and if I were to undertake such
a task afresh — ^which Heaven forbid ! — I might write
otherwise on certain points. But I tried to draw a
picture of our agriculture and rural conditions in the
twenty-seven counties that, with the Channel Islands,
I visited, which should be true and faithful to the
circumstances of the time.

Some, of course, were angry with me because I did
not advocate Protection as a remedy. Others of a
different school were angry because I pointed out that
Free Trade had wrought enormous damage to British
agriculture, and that this same Protection, if it could
be estabhshed, would go far to repair that damage.
As a matter of fact, I began my travels a believer in
Protection. By the time that I had finished them,
rightly or wrongly I came to the conclusion that it was
not feasible in England — a view which, during the last
ten years or so that have elapsed since the publication
of ‘ Rural England,’ little has happened to controvert.
Indeed, I stiU hold that Protection, or Tariff Reform,
which is so widely advocated by the followers of
Mr. Chamberlain, is a heavy stone tied round the neck
of the Unionist dog, and one which it will find makes
swimming dif&cult in our political waters.

I elaborated these views in a speech I made

RURAL ENGLAND 143

some months after I published ‘ Rural England ’ at
the Framlingham Farmers' Club, which speech has
often been quoted since that time, when, it wiU be
remembered, Mr. Chamberlain’s proposals were very
much before the country.

WeU, Mr. Chamberlain’s trumpet, which has been
echoing through the land for the last ten years, has
not yet shaken down the Free Trade walls, though
it is possible that by the time these lines are read it
may have done so. I cannot tell ; nobody can tell
except the Great Disposer of events. I can only put
things as I see them. At any rate the point that I
believe I was the first to place before the public in the
above speech, although others took it up soon after-
wardSj is sound and clear. I can see no escape from
the conclusion that, if food-stuffs are to be admitted
to our markets practically free, while other imports
are taxed, our agriculture must suffer to a terrible
extent. The same thing applies, if in a less degree,
to the admission of food-stuffs without impost from the
constituent parts of the British Empire. It would
make little difference to the British farmer, in these
circumstances, whether the com or the meat came in
free from India and Canada or from Russia and the
Argentine, if at the same time he had to pay more for
his implements, his clothing, and every other article
of daily life, and, as a consequence, a higher rate of
wages, while he only realised the old low prices for
what he had to sell. For, be it remembered, the
British manufacturer competing with the foreign-made
articles would certainly raise the cost of his output till
it equalled, or almost equalled, the price at which such
foreign articles could be profitably sold to the British
consumer.

At first my hopes of any tangible result of my

144 the days of my LIFE

labours were bitterly disappointed. Thus, when in
January 1906, a little over three years later, I wrote
a preface to a new edition of ‘ Rural England,’ I find
myself saying :

I wish I could add that I was able to point to any tangible
fruits of its pubhcation. This, however, I cannot do. Per-
sonally, I have made every effort to bring the reforms urged in
its pages to the benevolent notice of those in authority. At
some private cost I have inflicted upon them copies of these
expensive volumes and been favoured in return with polite
notes of thanks. I have interviewed certain of them who
wished to receive me. I have neglected other work in order
to travel up and down the country addressing every kind
of meeting and explaining my views ; in short, of would-be
agricultmal reformers, I may say almost, that I have ‘ laboured
more abundantly than they all.’ Now after four years are
gone by I must with humiliation report that nothing of any
consequence has happened.

It is true that at one time I hoped that the great
extension of parcel post privileges which, under the
title of an Agricultural Post, I urged so earnestly in the
interests of small holders, would pass into the region
of accomplished fact. In February 1903 I wrote a
letter on this subject to Mr. Hanbury, and I give an
extract from his answer :

House of Commons : February i8, 1903.

Dear Mr. Haggard, — I should have answered some days
— or weeks — ago, but I have been in commimication with the
P.M.G., Henniker Heaton, and others on the subject you have
done so much to bring to the front. So far from opposing the
principle of your suggestion I am heartily in favour of it, and
I am doing what I can to see it carried into practice. My
criticisms are criticisms of detail. I do not think the scheme
can be limited to agriculture or even to rural' districts. It must

Pond Garden, Ditchingham

{From ^ A Gardener^ s Year,')

RURAL ENGLAND 145

apply all round. Nor is it practicable to compete for long
distances with the Railway Companies. The coaches of the
P.O. run to distances of 50 miles round London, and at present
it costs the P.O. less to send parcels by that way than by raU.
But the arrangement with the Railway Companies as to parcels
expires very shortly now, and it remains to be seen whether
they cannot be made to carry them very much cheaper in
future. The weak point of the P.O. service as regards the
country districts is that it distributes the parcels sent from the
towns to almost every house free, but does not do so much for
collection as it does for distribution. The result is that the
flow of traffic is all in one direction. A farm-house or cottage
a mile or a mile and a half from a P.O. can readily receive
parcels from London, but to despatch one to London involves
a walk of a mile or a mile and a half.

So again the limit of ii lbs. is satisfactory to a town pro-
ducer or tradesman, but it is not at all what the small farmer
wants.

Knowing how keen your interest in these questions is and
what good you have done already, I hope we shall be able to
work side by side on this and many other points.

Yours sincerely,

R. W. Hanbury.

Of my answer there is a copy extant, from which
I quote :

Ditchingham House, Norfolk :

February 19, 1903.

Dear Mr. Hanbury, — It is with great pleasure that I have
read your kind letter and learn from it that this Post is really
to receive your support. Under these circumstances (although
of course there wiU be endless difficulties and obstacles to over-
come) I see no reason why it should not pass into the realm of
accomplished fact. If so I am sure that coming generations
will bless your name as the Minister who brought about a great
and beneficent reform in our economic conditions and gave
back some of its prosperity to the land. For it would — directly
or indirectly — do these things.

VOL. II. L

146 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

I agree the Post could not be limited : all trades and persons
must share its benefits. I think ' Goods Post ’ would be the
best name.

I believe the Railway Companies would come in on reason-
able terms for long distances. The General Manager G.E.R.
told me straight out (after I had shown him what the thing
really meant) that they would be glad to do so.

I agree that a collecting system is absolutely essential.
Motors make this easy. It (the Goods Post) might be com-
bined with some ‘ contre remboursement ' or pay-on-delivery
plan. But most of the stuff should go doubtless to co-operative
agencies who would sell it on the markets, crediting each
producer with his share.

Believe me, sincerely yours,

H. Rider Haggard.

P.S. — I am convinced the reason that the idea of an
Agricultural Post is not received with enthusiasm in every
agricultural quarter (the town papers seem all to be much in
favour of it) is that the farmers and their scribes beheve that
if it were conceded the concession would be used as an argument
against their getting Protection on food-stuffs !

That is why so many of them oppose or belittle every useful
reform : ‘ it might stop their getting Protection.' Therefore
they never will unite to demand palliatives, but prefer to hanker
after the unattainable !

Subsequently I had a most satisfactory interview
with this Minister in his private room at the House of
Commons, from which I emerged full of hope that the
matter was really in a way of being put through.

A little later Mr. Hanbury died suddenly, and
nothing more has been heard of the Goods Post from
that day to this.^ To my mind he was a great loss to
the country, as in him departed a man open to new
ideas ; one, too, animated by a sincere desire to advance
the cause of agriculture.

^ A Cash on Delivery postal service has at last been instituted. — Ed.

RURAL ENGLAND 147

Nearly two years later I received the following letter
from the late Lord Onslow, who in his turn had become
Minister of Agriculture.

Clandon Park, Guildford :

Nove^nhsY 13 [ 1904 ],

Dear Sir, — I have read with much interest not only your
book on Rural England, but your speeches and letters to the
Press on rural subjects ; and I thoroughly appreciate how much
you have done to educate public opinion on rural matters.

I know, too, that in your opinion the Government have
shown themselves supine in dealing with these questions.

Difficulties there are which perhaps are not within your
knowledge, but there are two primary ones which take the
heart out of any official reformer. One is the absolute impos-
sibility of getting more than one or two important measures
through the House of Commons in any Session, and then only
by the use of the Closure, while measures to which only one
single member is opposed cannot be brought on.

The other is the state of the national Exchequer and the
falling off in the power of the Government to borrow at the
low rates of former times.

I am in accord with you in much that you hold, but it is
only possible for the Board of Agriculture to act where neither
legislation nor expenditure is necessary.

I expect to be in London most of ne.xt week and the week
after ; and if you should chance to be coming to town, I should
much like to discuss some of these subjects with you.

I am, yours faithfully,

Onslow.

Here is my answer to this letter :

Ditchingham House, Norfolk :

November 15 , 1904 .

Dear Lord Onslow, — I thank you very much for your
letter. . . . Believe me, my Lord, I quite appreciate the diffi-
culties you mention. At the same time I am so enormously
impressed with the vital importance of the questions involved
that I think every effort should be made to educate public

148 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

opinion until it consents to sweep away those difficulties and
give a fair trial to reasonable reforms. It is my sense of the
supreme necessity of these reforms that has induced a humble
person like myself to write big books, take long journeys,
make speeches, indite letters to newspapers, etc. — aU gratis
work, of course — in the intervals of getting my livelihood by
other means. But as you wish to see me I will not trouble you
with a long letter on all these matters.

Believe me.

Very truly yours,

H. Rider Haggard.

To The Rt. Hon. the Earl of Onslow.

In due course I had a long talk with Lord Onslow
at his private house, during which he kindly but firmly
pressed out of me all the information I had to give as
regards small holdings and other matters. In the end
he asked me what I thought had best be done. I replied
that it would be well to begin by making a thorough
inquiry into the circumstances of the whole business.
He agreed, and we parted ; nor did I ever meet him
again except once at a public dinner.

Subsequently he appointed a committee to investi-
gate small holdings, on which he did not offer me a seat.
Nor, to Hie best of my recollection, was I even asked to
give evidence.

^ Thus did I keep ‘ pegging away,' on Nelson’s
principle that it is ‘ dogged as does it.’ Having no
official position, of course I could only work from the
outside, but I am sure that I missed no opportunity
within my reach. Thus, to take an example almost at
hazard, I find the copy of a letter written in some
acerbity of spirit to Captain Kennedy, who was the
Conservative agent for the Eastern Counties, in reply
to an informal invitation to me to contest the Wisbech
Division.

RURAL ENGLAND 149

These exertions I continued down to the time of the
fall of the Conservative Government, which I implored
to do something in the direction of extending smal l
holdings, if only for the sake of their own political skin.
Needless to say, they took no notice. The only answers
that ever reached me were to the effect that they were
not going to ‘ window-dress.’ Of course the reasons
for this attitude are to be found in Lord Onslow’s letter
which I have already quoted. Moreover, I did not
confine my endeavours to prominent members of the
Conservative party, of whom I had begun to despair.
This is shown by a letter which I addressed to Mr.
Asquith, the present Prime Minister, who at that time,
of course, was in Opposition, d, propos of some speech
he had made. Almost was I, never much of a party
politician, driven to the Pauline attitude of being all
things to all men if by any means I might win some.
With Mr. Asquith I had some slight acquaintance.
I remember Lord James of Hereford, whom I knew
fairly well, introducing him to me one day when I was
lunching at the Athenaeum, on which occasion they
both expounded to me the reasons of their strong
dislike of Protection. Here is the letter :

Ditchingham House, Norfolk :

March 19, 1903.

My dear Sir, — I have read your speech reported yesterday,
and in consequence I am venturing to ask your acceptance of
the copy of my recently published work ‘ Rural England '
which I send herewith. I hope that you may find time to
glance at the book, and especially at the chapter headed ‘ Con-
clusions.’ Most thoroughly do I agree with what you say as
to the possibility of a vastly increased output of home-grown
food. But this you will never get until you have co-operation
and the cheap carnage which, as you may have seen, I am doing
my best to advocate — ^under the form of an increase in postal

150 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

facilities. For this reason : without co-operation and cheap
carriage the small holder cannot thrive ; and it is to him that
you must look for an enlarged production — ^not to the large
farmers. As regards the lack of rural cottages I agree that this
is one of the great causes of the exodus to the towns (see Vol.
11 , pp. 519-520). But the lack of prospects is a greater. If
labourers had a prospect of rising and could do well on the land
as small holders they would soon get cottages, for then they
could pay a rent at which these would be remunerative to
build. Or more probably they would build their own, as at
Evesham.

Now I believe that such prospects could be afforded to
labouring men by means of some such moderate measures of
reform as I have suggested (Vol. II, p. 555) if only some British
Government would really take the matter to heart.

To my mind, to plunge everlastingly into foreign adventure
after foreign adventure, however difficult and costly, and all
the while to neglect our own land so cruelly is a madness.
What will it benefit us to gain the whole earth if we are to lose
our country-bred population ? Again, with all this outcry
about our danger from lack of food, why not take the obvious
remedy of growing most of it at home ? as we could do in my
judgment, and without Protection.

Forgive me for having troubled you with this screed. I do
so frankly in the hope of interesting you stiU more earnestly
in a subject to which, trusting to do a little good, I have given
so much time and labour — ^more indeed than my personal and
material interests have justified me in doing. To you, sir,
may come the opportunity of helping forward these reforms
and thus truly benefiting our country.

Beheve me, very truly, yours,

H. Rider Haggard.

The Right Hon. H. H. Asquith.

As a matter of fact it was from the Radical party,
with which I profoundly disagree upon certain points,
that light came at last. They, as I know from sundry
signs and tokens, had taken the trouble to study ' Rural

RURAL ENGLAND 151

England/ At any rate the Development Board, which
now does so much for agriculture, embodies somewhat
closely, if with variations, the scheme of Government
assistance for that industry which I outlined in the last
chapter, headed ' Conclusions/

The book has been very largely quoted, both here
and in other countries, though often enough without
acknowledgment, notably by politicians in search of
ideas. For instance. Lord Rosebery — I need not say,
with acknowledgment — ^has alluded to it more than once
in his speeches, and so have many other prominent
men. I remember that he pointed it out to me in his
library, and told me, I think, that he had read it straight
through.

I fear that this has been rather a dull chapter, for
its subject is always dull, and he who descants thereon
is apt to be considered an agricultural bore. Also it
has involved the quotation of several letters and the
reprinting of some extracts from books, which are apt
to look wearisome in type. Yet I did not see how
these could be omitted, since the words set down years
ago do give exactly the writer’s thoughts and views
in a fashion more completely accurate than can any
summary founded on his recollections. Memory is
a treacherous thing, and one to which in such matters
it is well not to trust.

Strange and varied were the establishments in
which Cochrane and I often found ourselves as guests
during the course of these ' Rural England ’ joumey-
ings. When it was announced that I was going to visit
a given county we invariably received many kind offers
of hospitahty. Since, as a rule, we knew nothing of
our would-be hosts, our method of dealing with these
was to take a map and accept at hazard those in-
vitations which would bring us nearest to the centre of

152 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

the various districts we wished to investigate. ReaUy
it was a wise plan, for it brought us into touch with all
sorts and conditions of men.

When, at the given day and hour, we drove up to
the residence of our unknown host, often enough it was
without knowing whether we should find a palace or
a farmhouse.

I could write a whole chapter, if not a small book,
about the places where we stayed and their inhabitants.
One night, for instance, we found ourselves in an ancient
and gigantic baronial castle. Whilst I was undressing
Cochrane arrived in my apartment, which was huge
and gloomy, and asked me if I would mind coming to
inspect his sleeping-place. I did, and by the light of
a few strugghng candles saw the most depressing room
on which ever I had set eyes.

It was enormous, and in the centre of the back wall
stood a four-post bed with black hangings and, I think,
black hearse plumes at the comers. Round the walls
were old, full-length family portraits of a singularly
grim description — I imagine they must have been
memorial pictures — ^while over the mantelpiece sat an
awful old seventeenth-century woman who held a skull
in her hands. This very skull, by the way, was kept
in a cupboard upstairs, where I saw the thing, which
had something to do with the history of the family, or
rather of that which preceded it in the ownership of
the castle and estate. Everything about the chamber
was in thorough keeping with that skull ; even the
coal-box was black and shaped like a sarcophagus !

‘ This,' said Cochrane — a lover of cheerful surround-
ings— in a feeble voice, ‘ is no doubt the place where
these people have been laid out for generations ! '

Remembering the horrible ‘black bed' in the
Vemey Memoirs, which used to be carted from house

RURAL ENGLAND 153

to house whenever a death was expected in the family,
I agreed with him, and departed, wishing him pleasant
dreams and a good night’s rest.

So huge was that castle — ^built, I believe, in the
time of King John — ^that in the morning we were
utterly unable to find our way to the breakfast-room.
Up and down passages we wandered, till at last we
saw a table with writing materials on it, and sat down
there to answer letters, until ultimately we were
retrieved.

Another strange experience was when we found
ourselves in a bachelor house, of which the host, poor
fellow — ^liaving, we understood, been crossed in love —
was in the habit of looking upon the wine when it was
red. In that house there was practically nothing to
eat, for the reason that its owner ate practically nothing.
I remember a certain pink and underdone veal and ham
pie which, as I was extremely unwell at the time, did
not excite appetite ; also an egg which I asked for in
place of the pie — ^but I wiU not dwell upon that egg !
On the other hand, we literally swam in 1845 — ^yes,
1845 vintage port. It was going at lunch, it was going
at dinner, it was always going — I may add, it always
went I

Our host, a most kindly-natured and wealthy man,
finding out that I liked old furniture, took me to an
attic which was stuffed with Jacobean oak and Georgian
Chippendale. I admired the pieces, whereon he said
in a careless voice, ‘ If you hke them, take them away.
I don’t care for them.’

I was greatly tempted, but in aU the circumstances
did not feel justified in accepting this liberal offer.

But I must not continue the record of such
reminiscences of our joume5dngs, since of these truly
there is no end.

154 the days of my LIFE

In the year 1903, which I spent at home, I wrote
another work of a rural character, called ‘ A Gardener’s
Year.’ This first appeared serially in the Queen, and
was afterwards brought out in a handsome volume of
nearly four hundred pages by Messrs. Longman. It
went through two editions and gave pleasure to a good
many people.

Also I wrote a romance of chivalry called ' The
Brethren,’ of which the scene is laid in the Holy Land
at the time of the Crusaders. Personally it is a favourite
with me, but my historical tales have never been quite
so popular as are those which deal with African
adventure.

CHAPTER XIX

PSYCHICAL

With eldest daughter to Eg^^pt — Return by Italy and Spain — Abu Simbe
with Carter — Bee's nest 2000 years old — ‘The Way of the Spirit' —
Dedicated to Kipling — Death of H. R. H.'s retriever Bob — Appears to him
in dream — Report published in Joitrval of Society for Psychical Research —
Lasting eEect on H . R. H.'s mind — More dream-pictures — Sir Oliver Lodge.

Early in 1904 I took my daughter Angela on a trip to
Egypt, returning by way of Italy and Spain. We went
out on one of the new P. & O. boats which was making
her maiden voyage, and experienced the most awful
weather. We began by grounding in the Thames and,
after a short stop to bury a Lascar overboard — ^who,
poor fellow, had died of the cold — ^ran into a terrific
gale in the Channel. The wind-gauges registered its
pace at about eighty miles the hour, alter which their
bottoms were blown out or something happened to
them. Then the fore-hatch was stove in and filled
with water, as did the passages along which we had to
walk from the cabins. Time after time did we stop
to try and make that hatch good with four-inch teak
planks, but always these were broken by the force of
the sea.

Our subsequent misfortunes were many. We were
taken in closer to Ushant than I thought pleasant ;
the new engines heated ; the chief engineer went mad
with the strain and, when at length we did reach Port
Said, had to be carried ashore raving. I believe that

155

156 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

he died not long afterwards. One night this poor
fellow, dressed in full uniform, rushed from cabin to
cabin, telling the passengers to get up as the ship was
sinking !

We took the turn into the Mediterranean about
twenty-four hours late, and in the dense darkness
caused by a fearful squall nearly went ashore on the
coast of Africa, as the Delhi did in after years — I saw
her wreck only the other day. When the light came
I had a nearer view of that shore than I ever wish
to see again — from the deck of an ocean liner. In
Gibraltar harbour we fouled our anchor in a man-of-
war’s mooring chains and had to slip it. In the Gulf
of Lyons we encountered a very bad mistral while
we were trying to sling another anchor into its place.
There it hung over the bow, bumping against the side
of the ship. By this time the Lascars seemed to be
practically useless, and the first officer was obliged to
slide down the chain and sit on the fluke of the anchor,
shouting directions. It was a strange sight to see this
plucky young gentleman swinging about there over
the deep. He was — and I trust still is — a man of whom
the country might be proud, but I have long forgotten
his name. In the end we crawled into Marseilles at
three knots the hour, where some of the passengers
left the ship, one of them explaining, for the comfort
of the rest of us, that he had the strongest presenti-
ments that she was going to sink.

Our next adventure was a sandstorm blowing from
the coast of Africa which turned the day to darkness
and covered the decks with a kind of mud. Then
suddenly the vessel was put about, and it was dis-
covered that the soundings showed that we were un-
comfortably near the coast of Crete. As the dear old
captain, who had been much cut about by a sea that

PSYCHICAL

^57

knocked him dovm on the bridge, remarked, ‘ he knew
what was behind him and did not know what was
before ’ ; also that ' where he had once been he could
go again.’ Subsequently our fore weU-deck filled three
times to the bulwarks, shipping seas in the most
unaccountable manner.

However, we came to Port Said at length, and got
ashore at about midnight as best we could. Never
was I more glad to find myself on land again.

I enjoyed that trip in Egypt very much. The place
has a strange fascination for me, and if I could afford
it I would go there every year. On this my second
visit we went as far as the wonderful rock-temple of
Abu Simbel, near the Second Cataract of the Nile.
Also I had the good fortune to be with Mr. Carter, then
the local custodian of antiquities at Luxor ; when we
visited the tomb of Queen Nefer-tari, which, with the
exception of the discoverer, who, I think, was Professor
Scaparelli, we were, I believe, the first white men to
enter.

It was wonderful to see those paintings of her late
Majesty as fresh as the day that the artist left them.
In one of them, I remember, she is represented pla3dng
chess. The tomb had been robbed a couple of thousand
years or so ago. When the ancient thief broke in it
had recently been flooded by a rain-storm, and there
on the walls were the marks of his hand printed on the
paint which then was wet. Also a hermit bee had
built its nest upon the roof — two thousand or so of
years ago ! The sarcophagus had been broken up for
its costly granite, which doubtless was worked into
statues by some old-world sculptor, and the body of the
beautiful favourite queen of Rameses destroyed. Some
bones lay about in the tomb-chamber, probably those
of the funeral offerings, and among them ushapti

158 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

figures, laid there to serve her Majesty in the other
world.

I wrote a series of articles for the Daily Mail about
these Egyptian experiences, which have never been
republished, for such newspaper matter must needs be
very scrappy. In one of these, however, I dwelt upon
the subject of the wholesale robbery of the ancient
Egyptian tombs and the consequent desecration of the
dead who lie therein. It does indeed seem wrong that
people with whom it was the first article of religion
that their mortal remains should lie undisturbed until
the Day of Resurrection should be haled forth, stripped
and broken up, or sold to museums and tourists. How
should we like our own bodies to be treated in such
a fashion, or to be left lying, as I have often seen those
of the Egyptians, naked and unsightly on the sand
at the mouths of the holy sepulchres which with toil
and cost they had prepared for themselves in their
life-days ? If one puts the question to those engaged
in excavation, the answer is a shrug of the shoulders
and a remark to the effect that they died a long while
ago. But what is time to the dead ? To them, waking
or sleeping, ten thousand years and a nap after dinner
must be one and the same thing. I have tried to em-
phasise this point in a httle story that I have recently
written under the title of ' Smith and the Pharaohs.'

Now I must dwell no more on Egypt with all its
history and problems, which, whenever I can find
time, it is my greatest recreation to study. Truly its
old inhabitants were a mysterious and fascinating
folk and, across the gulf of ages — ^largely, it must be
admitted, through these very excavations — ^they have
come very near to us again. I confess I know more
of her kings, her queens, and her social conditions than
I do of those of early England.

PSYCHICAL 159

From Egypt we went to Naples and from Naples
to the south of Spain, which I now visited for the first
time in preparation for a tale which I wrote afterwards
and named ‘ Fair Margaret.’

At Granada we saw that wondrous building, the
Alhambra, and in the cathedral the tomb of Ferdinand
and Isabella the Catholic. I descended into a vault
and was shown the coffins of these great people ; also
those of Philip le Bel and his wife Joanna. Readers
of Prescott will remember that the mad Joanna insisted
upon opening the coffin of her husband after he had
been some while dead. I procured a candle and
examined it, and there I could see the line where the
lead had been cut through and soldered together again.

Of all the buildings that I saw upon this journey
I think the mosque at Cordova, with its marvellous
shrine and its forest of pillars of many-coloured marbles,
struck me as the most impressive. The great cathedral
at Seville, however, with its vast cold spaces runs it
hard in majesty.

On my return to England I wrote ‘ The Way of the
Spirit,’ an Anglo-Egyptian book which is dedicated
to Kipling, and one that interested him very much.
Indeed he and I hunted out the title together in the
Bible, as that of ‘ Renunciation,’ by which it was first
called, did not please him. Or perhaps this had been
used before. I was glad to receive many letters from
strangers thanking me for it.

In July 1904 there happened to me a very extra-
ordinary incident. The story is contained in a letter
from me which appeared in The Times for July 21,
1904, together with letters from various other persons
testifying to the facts of the case. These letters and
other matter were included in the Journal oj the Society
for Psychical Research for October 1904, from which

i6o THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

I make short extracts relating the facts. Should any
one wish to study it in detail, with the corroborating
letters, they are referred to the number of the Society's
Journal.

On the night of Saturday, July g, I went to bed about
12.30, and suffered from what I took to be a nightmare. I was
awakened by my wife’s voice calling to me from her own bed
upon the other side of the room. I dreamed that a black
retriever dog, a most amiable and intelligent beast named
Bob, which was the property of my eldest daughter, was lying
on its side among brushwood, or rough growth of some sort,
by water. In my vision the dog was trying to speak to me in
words, and, failing, transmitted to my mind in an undefined
fashion the knowledge that it was dying. Then everything
vanished, and I woke to hear my wife asking me why on earth
I was making those horrible and weird noises. I replied that
I had had a nightmare about a fearful struggle, and that I had
dreamed that old Bob was in a dreadful way, and was trying
to talk to me and to tell me about it.

On the Sunday morning Mrs. Rider Haggard told the tale
at breakfast, and I repeated my story in a few words.

Thinking that the whole thing was nothing more than a
disagreeable dream, I made no inquiries about the dog and
never learned even that it was missing until that Sunday night,
when my httle girl, who was in the habit of feeding it, told me
so. At breakfast-time, I may add, nobody knew that it was
gone, as it had been seen late on the previous evening. Then
I remembered my dream, and thejfoUowing day inquiries were
set on foot.

To be brief, on the morning of Thursday, the 14th, my
servant, Charles Bedingfield, and I discovered the body of the
dog floating in the Waveney against a weir about a mile and
a quarter away.

On Friday, the 15th, I was going into Bungay when at the
level crossing on the Bimgay road I was hailed by two plate-
layers, who are named respectively George Arterton and Harry
Alger, These men informed me that the dog had been killed
by a train, and took me on a trolly down to a certain open-work

i6i

PSYCHICAL

bridge which crosses the water between Ditchingham and
Bungay, where they showed me evidence of its death. This
is the sum of their evidence :

It appears that about 7 o’clock upon the Monday morning,
very shortly after the first train had passed, in the course of
his duties Harry Alger was on the bridge, where he found a
dog’s collar torn off and broken by the engine (since produced
and positively identified as that worn by Bob), coagulated
blood, and bits of flesh, of which remnants he cleaned the
rails. On search also I personally found portions of black hair
from the coat of a dog. On the Monday afternoon and subse-
quently his mate saw the body of the dog floating in the water
beneath the bridge, whence it drifted down to the weir, it
having risen with the natural expansion of gases, such as, in
this hot weather, might be expected to occur within about
forty hours of death. It would seem that the animal must
have been killed by an excursion train that left Ditchingham
at 10.25 on Saturday night, returning empty from Harleston a
little after ii. This was the last train which ran that night.
No trains run on Sunday, and it is practically certain that it
cannot have been killed on the Monday morning, for then the
blood would have been still fluid. Further, if it was living,
the dog would almost certainly have come home during
Sunday, and its body would not have risen so quickly from the
bottom of the river, or presented the appearance it did on
Thursday morning. From traces left upon the piers of the
bridge it appears that the animal was knocked or carried
along some yards by the train and fell into the brink of the
water where reeds grow. Here, if it were still hving — and,
although the veterinary thinks that death was practically
instantaneous, its life may perhaps have lingered for a few
minutes — ^it must have suffocated and sunk, undergoing, I
imagine, much the same sensations as I did in my dream, and
in very similar surroundings to those that I saw therein —
namely, amongst a scrubby growth at the edge of water,

I am forced to conclude that the dog Bob, between whom
and myself there existed a mutual attachment, either at the
moment of his death, if his existence can conceivably have been
prolonged till after one in the morning, or, as seems more

VOL. II. ^

i 62 the days of my LIFE

probable, about three hours after that event, did succeed in
calling my attention to its actual or recent plight by placing
whatever portion of my being is capable of receiving such
impulses when enchained by sleep, into its own terrible
position.

On the remarkable issues opened up by this occurrence I
cannot venture to speak further than to say that — although it
is dangerous to generalise from a particular instance, however
striking and well supported by evidence, which is so rarely
obtainable in such obscure cases — it does seem to suggest
that there is a more intimate ghostly connection between all
members of the animal world, including man, than has hitherto
been believed, at any rate by Western peoples ; that they may
be, in short, all of them different manifestations of some central,
informing life, though inhabiting the universe in such various
shapes. The matter, however, is one for the consideration of
learned people who have made a study of these mysterious
questions. I will only add that I ask you to publish the
annexed documents with this letter, as they constitute the
written testimony at present available to the accuracy of
what I state. Further, I may say that I shall welcome any
investigation by competent persons.

I am, your obedient servant,

H. Rider Haggard.

To THE Editor of The Times.

The editor of the Journal of the Society for Psychical
Research says :

This case is one of very unusual interest from several points
of view. It is, therefore, specially satisfactory to have it so
well authenticated, and Mr. Rider Haggard deserves the
gratitude of psychical researchers for having collected all the
available evidence so promptly and completely and put it at
the disposal of the scientific world.

This experience produced a great effect upon me,
and at first frightened and upset me somewhat, for
without doubt it has a very uncanny side. By degrees.

PSYCHICAL 163

however, I came to see that it also has its lessons,
notably one lesson — that of the kinship, I might almost
say the oneness, of all animal life. I have always been
fond of every kind of creature, and especially of dogs,
some of which have been and are as very dear friends
to me. But up to this date I had also been a sports-
man. Shooting was my principal recreation, and one
of which I was, and indeed still am, extremely fond.
Greatly did I love a high pheasant, at which sometimes
I made good marksmanship. But now, alas ! I only
bring them down in imagination with an umbrella
or a walking-stick. From that day forward, except
noxious insects and so forth, I have killed nothing,
and, although I should not hesitate to shoot again for
food or for protection, I am by no means certain that
the act would not make me feel unwell. Perhaps
illogically, I make an exception in favour of fishing,
and I daresay that if salmon came my way I might
once more throw a fly for them. I do not think that
fish feel much ; also I always remember that, if He
did not fish Himself, our Lord was frequently present
while others did, even after His Resurrection ; further,
that He ate of the results, and indeed by His power
made those results more plentiful. Lastly, on one
occasion — I allude to the case of the coin that was
paid for poll-tax — this fishing was not carried on for
the sake of food.

Again, harmful creatures must be destroyed since
man must live, and so must those that are necessary
to his physical sustenance, such as sheep and cattle,
that is, until he becomes a vegetarian, as perhaps he
will one day — a long while hence. In fact, subsequent
to this date, I fell into great trouble and was held up
to the readers of sundry journals as a cruel brute
by persons who call themselves ‘ humanitarians ’

i 64 the days of MY LIFE

because, as a farmer, I advocated an organised State
crusade against rats and sparrows, which (owing largely
to the destruction of the hawk and owl tribes, and of
other creatures of prey in the interest of game preserva-
tion) work such incalculable damage in this country,
‘ Humanitarians ’ evidently do not earn their hving
from the land. If they did they might take a different
view of sparrows. It is, however, cheap to be pitiful
at the expense of others !

I know that the above views on shooting may be
thought a hard saying by many who greatly enjoy
what they consider a harmless and a healthfid sport.
But really it is not so, since in such matters every man
must act according to his own heart. If his conscience
is not afraid of a thing, let him do it ; if it is afraid, let
him leave it alone. So talks St. Paul of whatever is
sold in the shambles. ' To him that esteemeth any-
thing to be unclean, it is unclean.’ ' AU things indeed
are pure ; but it is evil for that man who eateth with
offence.’ And again, ‘ He that doubteth is condemned
if he eat because he eateth not of faith,’ which I take it
is another way of saying that a man must follow the
light that is ht in him. Therefore, although I no
longer shoot myself, I stiU go out shooting with my
friends who are happy in so doing. So far as I am
concerned, however, the net result of it all is that
‘ Othello’s occupation’s gone.’ I have now no recrea-
tion left save that of the garden and of my solitary
walks about the farm, which lead, perhaps, to too
much thinking.

The publication of this ' Bob ’ correspondence in
The Times and, I may add, everywhere throughout the
civilised world, brought me many letters of which the
general tenor went to prove that similar examples of
such psychical or telepathic communications were by

PSYCHICAL 165

no means unknown, though none of these were quite
so clear as that which I have set out above. Nor
were they so well supported by evidence. Moreover,
it seemed almost certain that the dog Bob communi-
cated with me after its death, which, if it could be
absolutely and finally proved, as it cannot, would solve
one of the mysteries of our being, by showing that the
spirit even of a dog can live on when its mortal frame
is destroyed and physical death has happened. If a
dog — ^then how much more a man !

None of the experiences of my correspondents went
so far as this. A number of these letters I sent to the
Psychical Research Society, but a great bundle of them
still remains which I have not the time to re-read.
On this point of the continuance of individual exist-
ence after physical death, I once wrote a letter to
Sir Oliver Lodge, who is both an eminent man of science
and a great student of such hidden matters. I asked
him whether he possessed such evidence as would
satisfy a reasonable person, say a judge or a jur3unan,
of the fact of the continued existence of the individual
after his physical death. He answered :

As to your question — it is not an easy one. By scientific
experience I have myself become absolutely convinced of per-
sistence of existence, and I regard death as an important
episode — the reverse of birth — ^but neither of these episodes
really initial or final. One is the assumption of connection
with matter, the other is the abandoning of that connection.

If it be further asked whether after we have abandoned
matter we can, by indirect means, occasionally continue to
act upon it — on the matter of the inorganic world or the matter
of our friends’ brains, for instance — I am inclined to answer,
though now more doubtfully, that in my judgment the evidence
points to the existence of some indistinct and undeveloped
power of this sort.

i66 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

The simplest and best developed variety of this continued
interaction with matter is on the side of telepathy.

This is experimentally found existent between the living,
and I have reason to believe that this is the one mode of com-
munication which survives the transition, and that under
favourable conditions we can stiU influence and be influenced
by the process of events and emotions here. . . .

This is comforting, so far as it goes, and of course
extremely interesting. But, after all, we have here
only the experience and the deductions of one man who,
brilliant and utterly upright as he is known to be, may
still be mistaken like the rest of us. The manifestations
exist — ^many can bear witness to them. But whence
do they come ? That is the question. May not some
Power be mocking us that, directly or indirectly, draws
its strength from our own vital forces and has its roots
in our own intelhgence, exalted in an access of spiritual
intoxication ? Yet if so, this does not explain the
‘ Bob ' incident when I was seeking for nothing, and
had gone to sleep tired out with my usual day's work.
Why, in such circumstances, should this dog have
materialised itself in my slumbering brain and at the
moment of its death, or rather, as I firmly believe,
several hours after that event ? Therein lies a hint
of great marvels.

Years afterwards another dream about an animal
came to me which I embodied in the story called
‘ The Mahatma and the Hare,’ a little book that, up to
the present, has no great public vogue. Largely this
is because so many of the papers neglected it as though
it were something improper. Their reason was, I
think, that they feared to give offence to that great
section of their readers who, directly or indirectly, are
interested in sport, by extended notices of a parable
which doubtless in its essence amounts to a;n attack

PSYCHICAL 167

upon our habit of killing other creatures for amuse-
ment. I hope, however, that its day may come,
though perhaps not yet.

As I am touching on mystical subjects, probably
for the last time, I will instance here a series of
imaginings which developed themselves in my mind at
intervals over a period of several months early in the
present year. I noted them down at the time and,
except for an addendum to No. 4, give them without
alteration, as I think it best not to interfere with the
original words, on which, perhaps unconsciously, I
might attempt to improve. Indeed it would be easy
to make a story out of each of these mind-pictures.
At the head of them I have stated the alternative
explanations which occur to me. Personally I favour
— indeed I might almost say that I accept — the
last.

Only then the question will arise as to whether it is
possible for us to imagine anything that has not, some-
where in this great universe whereof we only know
the fringe, an actual counterpart, perhaps very dis-
torted, of some unseen truth ? However far we throw
out our mental hands, can they close on anything
which is not in its essence a fact, or the reflection of
a fact ? Are we not walled in by facts, and is it within
our scope to travel one inch beyond that wall ? But
the thing is very subtle, and I am by no means certain
that I make my meaning clear. Moreover, it could be
argued in a dozen ways, and as these dream-pictures
are merely given as a curiosity in which I have no
personal faith, it is not worth while to waste time in
discussing them. Here they are :

During the past few months there have come to
me, generally between sleeping and waking, or so it
seemed, certain pictures. These pictures, it would

i68 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

appear, might be attributed to either of the three
following causes :

(1) Memories of some central incident that occurred

in a previous incarnation.

(2) Racial memories of events that had happened

to forefathers.

(3) Subconscious imagination and invention.

Probably the last of these alternatives is the one
which most people would accept, since it must be
remembered that there is nothing in any one of these
tableaux vivants which I could not have imagined — say
as an incident of a romance.

Now, before I forget them, I will describe the
pictures as well as I can.

1. A kind of bay in a thicket formed of such woods
as are common in England to-day, especially hazel, as
they would appear towards the end of June, in full leaf
but still very green. A stream somewhere near. At
back, in a tall bank, something like the Bath Hills, ^
the mouth of a cavern. About thirty feet from this
a rough hut made of poles meeting on a central ridge
(I have forgotten how it was thatched). In front of
the hut a fire burning, and an idea of something being
cooked by a skin-clad woman, I standing by, a youngish
man, tall ; children playing round, and notably a boy
of about ten standing on the hither side of the fire, his
nakedness half covered by the pelt of some animal,
his skin, as he lifts his arms, very white. ■ A general
sense of something about to happen.

2. A round hut, surrounded by a fence, standing
on a grassy knoll, no trees about. A black woman
moving within the fence and, I think, some children ;
myself there also, as a black man. An alarm below,

^ Above the river Waveney. — E d.

PSYCHICAL 169

which causes me to take a spear and run out. A fight
with attackers ; attackers driven off, but I receive
a spear-thrust right through the middle below the
breast, and stagger up the slope mortally wounded
back into the enclosure round the hut, where I fall
into the arms of the woman and die.

3. A great palace built in the Egyptian style.
Myself, a man of about thirty, in quaint and beautiful
robes wound rather tightly round the body, walking
at night up and down some half-enclosed and splendid
chamber through which the air flows freely. A beauti-
ful young woman with violet eyes creeps into the place
like one who is afraid of being seen, creeps up to me,
who start at seeing her and appear to indicate that she
should go. Thereon the woman draws herself up and,
instead of going, throws herself Straight into the man’s
arms.

4. An idea of boundless snows and great cold.
Then the interior of a timber-built hall, say forty feet
or more in length, a table by a doorway and on it
three or four large dark-coloured trout, such as might
come from a big lake. Wooden vessels about, brightly
painted. A fire burning in the centre of the hall, with
no chimney. On the farther side of the fire a bench,
and on the bench a young woman of not more than two-
or three-and-twenty, apparently the same woman as
she of the Egyptian picture, or very like her, with the
identical large violet eyes, although rather taller. She
is clothed in a tight-fitting grey dress, quite plain and
without ornament, made of some rough frieze and
showing the outline of the figure beneath. The hair
is fair, but I cannot remember exactly how it was
arranged. The woman is evidently in great grief. She
sits, her elbow resting on her knee, her chin in her hand,
and stares hopelessly into the fire. Presently some-

170 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

thing attracts her attention, for she looks towards the
door by the table, which opens and admits through it
a tall man, who, I know, is myself, wearing armour,
for I catch the sheen of it in the firelight. The woman
springs from the bench, runs round the fire, apparently
screaming, and throws herself on to the breast of the
man.

The general impression left is that she had believed
him to be dead when he, probably her husband,
appeared alive and well.

(Some months later I was favoured with an im-
pression of another scene set in the same surroundings.
In this picture postscript, if I may caU it so, the
identical man and woman, now persons of early middle
age, were standing together in bitter sorrow over the
doubled-up and fully-dressed body of a beautiful lad
of about eighteen years of age. Although I saw no
wet upon his clothes I think that he had been drovraed.)

5. The mouth of a tunnel or mine-adit running
into a bare hillside strewn with rocks and debris.
Standing outside the tunnel a short, little woman of
about twenty-five, with black hair, brown eyes, and
brownish but not black skin, lightly clad in some
nondescript kind of garment. Resting on her, his arm
about her shoulders, an elderly man, very thin and
short, wdth a sad, finely-cut face and sparse grizzled
beard, wearing a dingy loin-cloth. The man’s right
foot covered with blood, and so badly crushed that one
of the bones projects from the instep. The woman
weeping. By his side on the ground a kind of basket
filled with lumps of ore, designed to be carried on the
back and fitted with two fiat loops of hide, with a
breast-strap connecting them, something on the prin-
ciple of children’s toy reins. Growing near by a plant
of the aloe tribe, the bottom leaves dead, and some

PSYCHICAL 171

of those above scratched in their fleshy substance, as
though for amusement.

Walking up the slope towards the pair a coarse,
strong, vigorous, black-bearded man with projecting
eyes. He is clothed in white robes and wears a queer-
shaped hat or cap, I think with a point to it. From
an ornamented belt about his middle hangs a short
sword in a scabbard, with a yellowish handle ending
in a knob shaped like to the head of a lion. He carries
over his head a painted umbrella or sunshade that will
not shut up, and is made either of thin strips of wood
or of some kind of canvas stretched on a wooden frame.

General idea connected with the dream that this
man is an overseer of slaves who is about to kiU the
injured person as useless and take the woman for him-
self. She might be the daughter of the injured man, or
possibly a wife a good deal younger than he. In any
case she is intimately connected with him. Further
idea. That the injured man was once an individual of
consequence who has been reduced to slavery by some
invading and more powerful race.

The characteristics of the site of the picture remind
me of Cyprus.

I described these tableaux to Sir Oliver Lodge when
I met him in the Athenaeum not long ago, and asked
him his opinion concerning them. He was interested,
but replied that if they had appeared to him he would
have thought more of them than he did as they had
appeared to me, because he said that he lacked imagi-
nation. The curious little details such as that of the
dark-coloured trout on the table in No. 4, and that of
the scratchings on the aloe leaves in No. 5, seemed
to strike him very much, as did the fact that all the
scenes were such as might very well, and indeed doubt-

172 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

less have occurred again and again in the course of our
long human history, from the time of the cave-dwellers
onwards. Probably if we could trace our ancestors
back to the beginning, we should find that on one
occasion or another they have happened to some of
them. I may add that by far the prettiest and most
idylhc of these pictures was that of the primitive
family in the midst of its green setting of hazel boughs
by the mouth of the cave. Only over it, as I have said,
like a thunder-cloud brooded the sense of something
terrible that was about to happen. I wonder what
it was.

And now farewell to the occult. Mysticism in
moderation adds a certain zest to hfe and helps to lift
it above the level of the commonplace. But it is at
best a dangerous sea to travel before the time. The
swimmer therein will do well to keep near to this
world’s sound and friendly shore lest the lights he sees
from the crest of those bewildering, phantom waves
should madden or blind him, and he sink, never to
rise again. It is not good to listen for too long to the
calling of those voices wild and sweet.

CHAPTER XX

THE ROOSEVELT LETTERS

Appointed Commissioner to report to Secretary of State for Colonies on
Salvation Army Labour Colonies in U.S.A. — Alfred Lyttelton — H. K. H.'s
daughter Angela goes with him as secretary — Washington — Mr. Hay —
President Roosevelt — The White House — Notes of interview with Roose-
velt — Correspondence with Roosevelt.

In January 1905 I received, quite unexpectedly, the
following letter from the Right Hon. Alfred Lyttelton,
who at that date was Secretary of State for the Colonies.

DownIxMg Street : January 14, 1905.

Dear Mr. Rider Haggard, — ^The Rhodes Trustees have
agreed to give a sum of ;^3oo (inclusive of all expenses) to defray
the expense of sending a Commissioner to the United States to
inspect and report upon the ‘ Labour Colonies ’ estabhshed in
the United States by the Salvation Army. There appear to
be at present three of these, in California, Colorado, and Ohio,
and they are used for the transmigration of persons from the
big American cities. It is thought that if on inquiry this
system is found to be financially sound and to be a real benefit
to the poorer classes, it might prove a useful model for some
analogous system of settlement from the United Kingdom to
the Colonies.

It is the desire of the Rhodes Trustees that the Com-
missioner should be nominated by and report to the Secretary
of State for the Colonies.

I should be very glad if you would consent to do the work,
for which your experience as an observer both of men and agri-
cultural affairs so eminently qualifies you. The remuneration
is not very great, but the interest of the question to which

173

174 the days of my LIFE

the inquiry will relate and the public service which the
Commissioner will be able to do may induce you, I hope, to
undertake it.

If you go, you would in the first place be put into com-
munication with the Salvation Army authorities. Mr. Booth
Tucker, who commands their United States branch, considers
that the Commissioner should start as early in the year as
practicable, because he would have better opportunities of
seeing the settlers and talking with them before the more
strenuous agricultural operations have commenced.

I should therefore be obhged if you would be so good as to
let me know in a few days whether you will be able and willing
to go, and if so, whether you could start in February.

Yours faithfully,

Alfred Lyttelton.

H. Rider Haggard, Esq.

I extract the following passage from my answer ;

I thank you for your letter and the compliment you have
paid me. I accept your invitation to undertake this mission,
especially as the subject is one that interests me very much ;
indeed I was speaking on a branch of it at the meeting at York
last week of which Mr. Seebohm Rowntree was chairman. . . .
I understand that I shall receive my appointment as Commis-
sioner and my instructions from you as Secretary of State,
not from the Rhodes Trustees, and that it will be so gazetted.

Shortly after I received a letter from Mr. Lyttelton’s
secretary, Mr. Graham, which I print to show what were
the exact terms of my instructions.

Downing Street : January 31, 1905.

Sir, — I am directed by Mr. Secretary Lyttelton to inform
you that he has nominated you to be a Commissioner to proceed
to the United States, and to inspect and to report to him upon
the conditions and character of the Agricultural and Industrial
Settlements which have been estabhshed there by the Salvation
Army, with a view to the transmigration of suitable persons

THE ROOSEVELT LETTERS

175

from the great cities of the United States to the land and the
formation of Agricultural Communities.

2. It appears to the Secretary of State that, if these experi-
ments are found to be successful, some analogous system might
with great advantage be applied in transferring the urban
populations of the United Kingdom to different parts of the
British Empire.

3. You should pay special attention to the class of persons
taken by the Salvation Army, their training and success as
agricultural settlers, and the general effect upon character and
social happiness ; you should also consider the financial
aspects of the experiments.

4. It would be desirable that, after you have inspected the
several Settlements, you should proceed to Ottawa and discuss
the subject with Lord Grey, who has taken great interest in it,
as weU as with such local authorities as may be indicated to
you by the Governor-General as likely to aid you with advice
and assistance as to the application of the system in a British
Colony.

5. The Rhodes Trustees, with whom the suggestion of the

Inquiry originated, and by whom Mr. L3d;telton has been asked

to nominate a Commissioner, have made a grant of £ 300 ,

including all travelling expenses, to meet the cost of the

Inquiry. t c-

^ I am. Sir,

Your obedient servant.

H. Rider Haggard, Esq.

Fred. Graham.

I remember that when I went to see the Colonial
Secretary to receive his verbal instructions before
sailing, by some accident I missed the right entrance
to the Colonial Office and finally obtained admission
through a little back-door. At the time this circum-
stance struck me as curiously emblematic of my
position. For after a cessation of twenty-six years was
I not once again entering the official service of my
country through a back-door, by means of this un-
expected commission with which I was now honoured ?

176 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

I inspected the Salvation Army colony at Hadleigh.
Also I had a long interview with General Booth, and
in due course I arrived at New York accompanied
by my daughter Angela, who acted as my secretary.
Here I was seized upon by interviewers, one instance
of which I must record, because it is amusing. In the
Waldorf Hotel we had three rooms — ^my daughter's,
my own, and a place for sitting. About two o'clock
one night the telephone in each of these rooms (every
room in an American hotel has a telephone) began to
ring furiously. I leapt from my bed and tried to
attend to two of them. While I was doing so my poor
daughter arrived shivering in her nightgown (there
were many degrees of frost), exclaiming, ‘ Oh, Dad, do
come here ! There is a lunatic on the telephone who
says he wants me to come out walking in the streets.’

It turned out that some enterprising newspaper
was distributing food to the New York poor, and
thought that it might get an advertisement by our
presence at the process.

After this the young lady in question became artful.
When she went to bed she took the receiver off the
telephone. After I had cut my foot open in a sudden
and sleepy midnight rush to that instrument, so did I !

Having paid some official visits we went to Phila-
delphia, where I inspected the vacant lots which a local
society enabled poor people to cultivate. Also I was
entertained at luncheon by the Franklin Club, a society
of gentlemen connected with literature, of which
Dr. Weir Mitchell, the great nerve specialist, was the
venerated president. This was a truly delightful meal,
and one of which I shall always retain most grateful
recollections.

From Philadelphia I proceeded to Washington,
where I lunched with the late Secretary of State,

THE ROOSEVELT LETTERS 177

Mr. Hay, a most refined and agreeable man who, I
found, was a friend of my brother William. His
name is now prominently before the public in con-
nection with the Hay Pauncefote Treaty re the
Panama Canal. On the 9th of March the Under-
secretary, Mr. Loomis, took us to see the President,
Mr. Roosevelt, who was then celebrating his inaugu-
ration. The White House was crowded with people
waiting to shake hands with the new Chief of the
State, amongst whom I noted a band of Indian chiefs,
men with long black hair, copper-coloured skins, and
strongly marked features. Mr. Loomis took us to the
President’s private room, a double chamber connected
with a large ante-room by folding doors. These doors
stood open, and beyond them were gathered a number
of gentlemen awaiting the President. I take it that
they were the Council of State or Cabinet.

Then the President appeared and shook hands with
us warmly. He was, and indeed still is,^ a short, stout
man with a fair, fresh complexion and rows of very
even teeth, which he shows in their entirety every time
he smiles. In manner he is frank and earnest, nor does
he mince his words and opinions.

First he waved his hand towards the gentlemen in
the ante-room and, pointing to the door, beyond which
the crowds through which we had passed were gathered,
said that there I beheld the aftermath of a presidential
election in a democratic country. Then he asked me
my views upon the South African situation, adding
that he was himself of Dutch descent.

I gave them, and he expressed his hope that the
Boers in South Africa, with whom he had great sym-
pathy, would settle down, learn English, and become
a dominant factor in that country under the British

1 Written in 1912 . — Ed.

VOL. II.

178 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

flag and rule. He added that he had expressed these
views strongly to those of their leaders who had visited
him in America, which shows that he, at least, was not
working against us in the South African War.

Our talk next turned upon matters connected with
the land and with the absolute necessity of keeping the
population on the soil and not allowing it to flock into
the cities. I found that his views and mine upon this
point were identical, as he recognised the inevitable
deterioration of the race which must ensue if the land-
dwellers were to become city-dwellers. He spoke also
on the subject of the limitation of families, and instanced -
the case of the French Canadians who, in some districts,
he declared, were crowding out the British -born folk in
the Dominion. These Frenchmen, he informed me,
settle upon the land and have large families, whereas
the English Canadians draw to the cities. Also he
instanced the case of Australasia. He impressed me
as a thoroughly sound and reliable man — one whose
heart was in the right place, and who would do the
best he could for his nation during the time it was in
his care, and for humanity at large.

A few days later my daughter and I were enter-
tained at luncheon at the White House, to which we
went straight from another luncheon, where we were
also entertained by citizens of note in Washington.

It was a most amusing meal. Especially do I
recollect Mr. Roosevelt's comic sketch of the anticipated
details of a forthcoming meeting between himself and
the Swiss Minister, who was attending at the White
House to present his credentials.

‘ He,’ he said, ‘ wiU stand in a fine uniform and read
a lot of rot to me in French, while I shall stand opposite
to him and read a lot of rot in English. And that’s
what they call the high ceremonies of diplomacy!’

THE ROOSEVELT LETTERS 179

' It is an odd thing, Mr. Haggard,’ he said, as he
entered the private drawing-room after luncheon, ' that
you and I, brought up in different countries and follow-
ing such different pursuits, should have identical ideas
and aims. I have been reading your book, “ Rural
England,” and I tell you that what you think, I think,
and what you want to do, I want to do. We are one
man in the matter ’ ; or words to that effect.

I could only answer that I was extremely glad to
hear it.

I may add that I was not wrong in supposing that
the President would try to put these ideas into action,
as indeed is shown by his famous Conservation Act,
the passing of which he subsequently brought about ;
also by many other of his administrative deeds.
Further, should he ever return to power again, I am
convinced that he will push on along these lines.

In proof of what I say — since, before proceeding
with the account of my American mission, I think that
for convenience’ sake it will be weU here to finish the
story of my relations with President Roosevelt — I will
quote the substance of a note I made of an interview
which I had with him in London more than five years
later. Also I wiU quote several letters which have
subsequently passed between us.

June 2, 1910.

I saw Mr. Roosevelt and his family this afternoon at
10 Chesterfield Street. He was extremely pressed, and in-
formed me that he had not even found time to put on a black
coat since coming up from sta3dng with Selous. I told him the
result of my American mission. He said that it was most
disheartening, but always the case where officials could have
their way. I congratulated him upon his Natural Resources
Conservation Policy. He answered that he was making a big
fight upon that point.

i8o THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

The Bishop of Massachusetts, who was present, said to
Mr. Roosevelt that I approved of his famous Guildhall speech.

‘ Ah ! ’ he said, ‘ I knew I should have Haggard’s support.’

(On this point Kermit Roosevelt, his son, told me that both
Balfour and Grey were pleased with the speech.)

I informed Mr. Roosevelt of the investigations that I had
just arranged to carry out for the Salvation Army.^ He said
that this was ‘ a grand work ’ which I proposed to do, and he
only wished he could have found time to come round with me,
adding with much earnestness :

‘ Why not make use of all this charitable energy, now often
misdirected, for national ends ? ’

‘ What I have called “ the waste forces of Benevolence,”
I said. ‘ It is odd, Mr. Roosevelt, that we should both have
come to that conclusion.’

‘ Yes, that’s the term,’ he answered. ‘ You see, the reason
is that we are both sensible men who understand.’

In saying good-bye to me, Mr. Roosevelt said, ‘ It’s a barren
thing to say, but I want to tell you how deeply I admire all
your social work, and, if you care to know it, I should like to
add that I have found it a strength and a support to myself in
my own struggles. . . . It’s almost an insult to ask you here
rushed as I am, but I did want to have a word with you, and
had no other chance.’

I also spoke to him about Horace Plunkett’s work. He
answered that he thought most highly of him and that he,
Plunkett, was coming over to America to see him.

Subsequently I read in the American Outlook
a most interesting signed article by Mr. Roosevelt
i propos of my social work, and especially of the
book called ‘ Regeneration ' that I had written on
the Salvation Army.

As to this review Mr. Roosevelt wrote to me
regretting that he could not have made the article ten
times as long.

1 See p. 216, Vol. II.— Ed.

THE ROOSEVELT LETTERS i8i
To this I answered on August 8, 1911 ;

I thank you most heartily. I cannot tell you how greatly
I appreciate the good opinion of a man like yourself, and,
what is so very rare, the pubhc expression of that opinion. As
a private individual I find my task very hard : to drive into
the intelligence of a blind and careless generation certain
elementary facts which it cannot or wiU not understand is
always difficult, especially if the wielder of the hammer is not
rich. If I could afford it I would devote the rest of my life to
this kind of educational work in my own land and others. But
I fear I can’t, and in this country no kind of help is forthco min g
to make such efforts possible.

Of Mr. Roosevelt’s long answer I quote the begin-
ning and the end, omitting aU the central part of the
letter, which deals with various social problems. I wiU
call special attention to the last lines of this letter,
which I think show a high and fine spirit.

The Outlook, 287 Fourth Avenue,

New York : August 22, 1911.

Dear Mr. Haggard, — I have been reading ' Rural
Denmark ’ with genuine interest, and I congratulate you upon
the work. I was especially interested in the rather melancholy
chapter at the end — ‘ What might be and what is.’ I agree
with every word you say about the land. . . .

I do not wonder that you feel discouraged and blue at
times. As you say, it seems a hard and thankless task to have
to try to hammer into your generation what is vital for them to
learn and what they refuse to learn. I half smiled when I read
what you wrote, because I so often have the same feeling myself.
As President I tried, and I now continue to try, to teach lessons
that I feel ought to be learned by my fellow-countrymen ; and
I often wonder how much I am accomphshing by it. There
are so many important lessons that ought to be learned, and
the art of preaching so that it wiU at least do no harm is such a
very difficult art to acquire and to practise ! I often become
quite horrified at the multitude of profoundly dull and unin-
teresting little books and pamphlets and articles and tracts.

i82

THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

all with a worthy purpose, which are sent to me by other men
interested in trying to teach something which they believe
ought to be taught ; I wonder whether I seem the kind of dull
pointless bore to the people I am trying to help as so many of
these worthy people seem to me ! I think your business and
mine is to go hhead, never to stop trying to help along the lines
we have marked out, and yet to keep our sense of humor and
sense of proportion and equability of nature. We must not
preach all the time, or we will stop doing any good ; for we
must always remember not to fall into the snare of preaching
for the purpose of relieving our own souls instead of for the
purpose of accomplishing something as regards somebody else’s
soul. We must not permit ourselves to become soured by our
experiences, for being gloomy does not in the least help a man
to reach others, and merely makes him less attractive to him-
self and to all around him. Life is a campaign, and at best we
are merely under-officers or subalterns in it. We are bound
to do our duty as efficiently and as fearlessly as we know how ;
but it is a good thing to remember that we must not be too
much cast down even if things look wrong, because melancholy
only tends to make us less and not more efficient, and buoyancy
and good-humor and the ability to enjoy life all help instead
of hindering a reformer.

Well ! I have written you an unconscionably long letter.
Good-bye and good luck !

Faithfully yours,

Theodoee Roosevelt.

H. Rider Haggard, Esq.,

Ditchingham House,

Norfolk.

I answered as follows :

Ditchingham House, Norfolk :

September 5, 1911.

My dear Mr. Roosevelt, — Many thanks for your inter-
esting letter of August 22nd. I think that the cause of the
‘ trouble among the peoples who speak English ’ is twofold,
the love of pleasure and the love of wealth, both of which
affections can, for the majority, be most easily gratified in

THE ROOSEVELT LETTERS 183

cities. Doubtless the Golden Calf is the most popular of all
gods ancient or modem, and he does not buUd his shrines
amongst woods and fields. Moreover his worship becomes
ever more facile, since during the last century a new code of
morality has matured in these matters.

Rogues, of course, there always were, but in the days of our
grandfathers not so many, I think, of the ‘ indifferent honest.’

I have a few shares in certain commercial undertakings.
A week or so ago I observed that the price of these shares was
falling rapidly. When they had, so to speak, bumped against
the bottom, in each case the shareholders were notified of
certain troubles and miscalculations that had occurred. The
next day the papers pointed out that the ‘ insiders ’ had been
unloading their shares at the high price before warning the
shareholders of what had happened, and remarked that this
furnished another proof of the helplessness of the investor in
the hands of the said insiders, who are, I suppose, the directors
and their friends.

Now I frequently have to send people to prison who through
poverty or actual want have stolen something, but no one will
send these ‘ insiders ’ to prison, although they are worse than
ordinary thieves because they betray the confidence of those
who trusted them and whose interests they are paid to promote.
On the contrary, their rapidly acquired wealth wiU be admired,
they will be spoken of with respect as successful men, and
probably in the end receive or purchase titles.

Now in the conditions of a simple pastoral life dishonesty,
even if innate, could scarcely bring such rich rewards.

Apply the argument to the various classes of mankind and
I think we have one of the causes of the popularity of the town.

Another is, of course, that there women can show themselves
off, their jewels and dresses, if rich ; or if poor, can have the
advantages of cheap amusements. In most people the love of
Nature scarcely exists ; it seems to be the pri-^ege of the highly
educated. But ninety-eight out of a hundred love a gas-lamp.

Speaking generally, this seems to be the state of affairs
among all the more progressive of the white peoples . I hear that
even the Boers of whom you speak are in a good many instances
beginning to be affected by this kind of tidal movement towards

i84 the days of MY LIFE

the town. How will it end ? That is the interesting point.
My opinion is that in the absence of some unforeseen and unex-
pected turn of this tide it wiU involve the practical destruction
of the white peoples, and that within a measurable time, say,
two or three centuries. Except in the case of those of a lower
stratum whose progeny soon die out or become degenerate,
the town women do not have many children ; in fact there
seems to be a rebellion against this burden amongst most
married women. Also the increase of luxury and the cost of
living all tend towards the same end. Only on the land are
children welcome, that is if this land is owned by their parents,
who find their labour valuable. Look at France. Were it not
for the support of England, Germany would soon have her in
its bag. But the same causes that are reducing France to a
state of politiccil death are, I am told, beginning to work at
the heart of her enemies, the Germans. Look at Australia.
If there were no British fleet how long would it be before it
received a considerable number of immigrants of the Mongol
type ? And so on.

But all these arguments are commonplace to you. The
question is. Whither do they lead, supposing them to be
accurate ?

I think, to two alternative conclusions. The first alternative
is that the Almighty has had enough of the white races and is
bringing about their ruin through their own failings as in past
days He brought about the ruin of Rome, purposing once more
to flu their places from the East. The second alternative is that
He is pointing out to them that their only possible rejuvena-
tion, their only salvation lies in the closer settlement of the
land which they neglect.

Denmark has learned something of this lesson, and that is
why to me its example seems so important. Personally also
I believe it to be the first of truths, and that is why I try
to preach it in and out of season. But the sporting owner and
the tenant farmers of this country, both of which classes find
things very well as they are, do not share my views, and say so
with vigour. The future will show which of us is in the right.

... I quite agree with all that you say at the end of your
letter ; indeed I think that these are fine words. All that one

THE ROOSEVELT LETTERS 185

can do is to peg away and not be discouraged. Then at least
one has done one’s humble best in the little hour that is granted,
leaving the ultimate issues in the hands of Fate and the future.
If no one will listen, if the opposing interests are too strong,
at least one has cried aloud in the wilderness and done one’s
best.

With very kind regards.

Believe me.

Ever sincerely yours,

H. Rider Haggard.

About a year later I wrote a note to Mr. Roosevelt,
saying that of course American politics were no affair
of mine, and that I would not venture to say anything
about them. Still, as I believed that his heart was in
the right place, I wished him success in his arduous
struggle.

To this note I received the following reply, which
strikes me as of extraordinary interest. The opening
of it, of which the note is ‘ misunderstood,’ is somewhat
pathetic ; the writer’s conviction as to the approaching
‘ general smash-up of our civilisation ’ unless certain
conditions can be put a stop to is of much weight
coming from such a man, and the conclusion throws
a light upon his character which would astonish many
even in this country.

Office of Theodore Roosevelt,

The Outlook, 287 Fourth Avenue,

New York : June 28, 1912.

Dear Mr. Haggard, — I have but a moment in which to
answer your welcome letter, as I am driven almost to death.
There are but a limited number of my own countrymen, among
those of the highest education, who understand as you do just
what I am striving for. I suppose that as we grow older we
naturally lose the natural feeling of young men to take an
interest in politics just for the sake of strife — ^the same kind of
interest one takes in big game hunting or football, the kind of

i86

THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

interest quite compatible with doing excellent work but which
cannot inspire the highest kind of work. As we get older, if we
think seriously at all, and if we escape falling into a permanent
Palmerstonian jauntiness of attitude, we cannot avoid becoming
deeply and indeed painfully impressed with the tremendous
problems of our social and industrial life. To me politics and
applied ethics ought to be interchangeable terms, and my
interest in the former arises chiefly from my interest in the
latter. If the whole game is one of mere sound and fury,
without any sincerity back of it, any real purpose of achieve-
ment, then it is all of as little importance as a contest between
the blues and the greens in the Byzantine circus. I am, I
hope and believe, a practical man, and I abhor mere senti-
mentality ; but I abhor at least as much the kind of so-called
practical man who uses the word ‘ practical ’ to indicate mere
materialistic baseness, and who fails to see that while we of
course must have a material and economic foundation for
every successful civilisation, yet that the fabric cannot be
lasting unless a warp of lofty disinterestedness and power of
community feeling is shot through the woof of individualistic
materialism. Have you ever read ‘No. 5 John Street ’ ?
I happened to be reading it the other day. Now I know
I cannot ever achieve more than the very smallest part of
what I would like to do, but at least I wish to take part in
a movement for using the government so far as may be
to put a stop to the dreadful conditions at both ends of
the social scale which are described in ‘No. 5 John Street.’
In the same way, I wish to get the government interested in
conservation, and in restoring the people to the land. I do
not know whether we will be able to succeed in the great
movement for social and industrial reform, which includes all
such movements as the two I have mentioned, but I do know
that the alternative is a general smash-up of our civilisation ;
and succeed or fail, I hold it to be the duty of every decent
man to fight to avoid such a smash.

I hope you do come to Canada and then I shall see you here
and have a chance of talking over some of these matters, which
are of such vital importance, and which the average man treats
as of no importance whatever.

THE ROOSEVELT LETTERS 187

As for my personal fortunes, they are of no consequence
whatever, except in so far as they are for the moment connected
with this movement. The great bulk of my wealthy and
educated friends regard me as a dangerous crank because I am
trying to find a remedy for evils which if left unremedied will
in the end do away not only with wealth and education, but
with pretty much all of our civilisation. The majority of
people veer one way or the other according to whether at the
moment I seem to succeed or fail, and are quite incapable of
believing that I am concerned with an3d:hing but my own
success or failure. But aU this is of httle permanent conse-
quence. It is a fight that must be made, and is worth making ;
and the event lies on the knees of the gods.

Faithfully yours,

Theodore Roosevelt.

To this letter I answered ;

Ditchingham House, Norfolk :

July 14, 1912.

My dear Mr. Roosevelt, — I thank you for your letter.

. . . I too hold that the civilised world wallows in a slough
worse, perhaps, than the primeval mud of the savage ; that it
is possible (if not probable) that it may be dragged from that
slough, cleansed and clothed in white garments. That it is
the bounden duty of all men as they shall answer for it at the
last to do their honest best to bring this about ; regardless
of any wreaths of success, of any dust of failure, regardless of
everything save that glory which, in all probability, will never
crown their individual strivings, or, if it comes, be at all
identified with their half-forgotten names.

This, I imagine, is a conviction that comes home to certain
of us with an added force when some of the cables that bind us
here are slipped and our being begins to thrill beneath the pull
of that tide which flows over the edge of the World. At least
it has come home to me, grieving in my own impotence, and I
am sure that it has come home to you. Our Faith then is the
same. How can that Faith be — not fulfilled — but put in the
way of fulfilment by others who come after ?

i88 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

Let us suppose that you succeed and reach great power,
now or later. I daresay you will not : as you say, it is on the
knees of the gods, or rather of God — and heaven knows, I shall
think no differently of you if you succeed or fail, but let us
suppose it. What could you do — or strive to do ?

You are confronted with a hideous problem. The other
day, in a hairdresser’s shop, I took up one of our illustrated
papers. In it was a reproduced photograph of a number of
your New York women (members of the upper 400 I think
they were named) feeding their lap-dogs, adorned with jewelled
collars, off plates of gold. Elsewhere I have read and seen
pictures of New York poor starving in the snows of winter.

There in brief is your problem and the problem of every
civilised country of the Earth. The glutted, foul, menacing
cities, the gorgeous few, the countless miserables ! And
beyond the empty Land which could feed them all and give
them health and happiness from the cradle to the grave.

The problem then is ; the Poor in the Cities, and the
answer to it should be, the Poor on the Land, where they would
cease to be poor.

What are the bitter fruits of this City Life ? A confusion
more complete than that which feU on the builders of the
Tower of Babel ; a failure more utter ; a mere shattered mass
of half-dried bricks which will be washed to shapelessness
by the rains of heaven and crumbled to powder by its ever-
lasting sun.

An ultimate dearth of Life : the woman who will not bear
children on the one hand ; the woman who may not bear
children on the other. A destruction ; with a vision (for those
who can see) of the East once more flowing in over the West
and-possessmg it — and lo ! the toil and intellect of ages gone.

Such may be the will — the design of God. I do not know.
Yet I think it more probable that it is the ‘cracked coin in which
He will repay the wickedness, or the mad foUy of man.

Cannot this torrent be stayed or turned ? Here I see no
hope of it ; Yonder you may have a chance. Our existence
as a race (I speak of all the white Nations) seems to me to
depend upon the answer. If this letter were published in the
Press to-day, I am aware it would be mocked at. But if it

THE ROOSEVELT LETTERS 189

could be read one short five hundred years hence, I wonder if
the readers of that age would call me fool or prophet ?

Good luck to you ! In triumph or disaster God’s blessing
and peace on you who are striving for the truth and right.

Thus prays your friend,

H. Rider Haggard.

Here ends my Roosevelt correspondence up to the
present time. If he survives me — which, being so
strong, is more than probable — I do not think that he
will be vexed with me for including what he wrote to
me in my autobiography, seeing that it is in a sense
2 lU public matter and reveals his true character in the
most favourable of lights.

How wrong, in my opinion, are those who so bitterly
abuse Mr. Roosevelt ! I think him a noble-hearted
and upright man who is striving for the good of
humanity.

CHAPTER XXI

REPORT ON LABOUR COLONIES

Letter to Alfred Lyttelton — Interview with him — Opportunities of Con-
servative Government — How used — Nature of H. R. H.’s scheme —
Approved by Earl Grey, Governor-General of Canada — Cold reception
by Government — Alfred Lyttelton a believer in it — Referred to a Depart-
mental Committee — The bottom knocked out of it — Letters from Earl
Grey — Letter from Bramwell Booth.

On my homeward way across the Atlantic I wrote the
following private letter to Mr. Lyttelton :

R.M.S. Majestic : April 23, 1905.

Dear Mr. Lyttelton, — I hope within a few days to let
you have my Report, or rather Reports — for I have written
a genered Report and separate Remarks upon each of the
Salvation Army Colonies.

I am glad to be able to tell you that on the whole, although
mistakes have been made, I formed a favourable opinion of
these colonies.

I am also thankful to be able to add that the results of my
negotiations with the Canadian Government are, in my opinion,
very satisfactory. They have given me 240,000 acres of land
outright (to be selected wherever one likes) and a promise of as
much more as is wanted. This is really very handsome. Up
to the present, however, I have not been able to get their
promise that they would join in guaranteeing a loan for Emi-
gration purposes. Still Mr. Fielding was very weU disposed
towards so doing and promised that he would consult his
colleagues and communicate with me further. I owe it to
Lord Grey and Mr. Sifton that things went so smoothly in
Canada. I cannot be grateful enough to them, as will be seen

REPORT ON LABOUR COLONIES 191

from my Report. I was fortunate enough to be able to con-
vince everybody I met there, from Sir Wilfrid Laurier down,
that the scheme I have evolved is sound and workable — ^to the
benefit of Canada also, so they all set to and helped me after
reading my Report on the Colonies. (I had roughly drafted
these Reports during my train journeys. — H. R. H.) Also
I think that Sir Wilfrid was approached in a fortimate hour —
just when he wished to do something for the Protestants.

At any rate when I took some opportunity to point out to
him that the Salvation Army put no religious pressure on its
settlers and that there were Roman Catholic families at Fort
Romie, after thinking a moment, he answered formally :

‘ I think that no Public Body could be better fitted to carry
out Land Settlements in Canada than is the Salvation Army.’

It seemed to me that this was holding out the hand of
welcome.

The Report covers many documents that have to be checked
and prepared for press, but I am pushing on with them as fast
as possible, and if I am wanted a wire to Ditchingham will
always find me.

I had a most interesting interview with President Roosevelt,
of which I wiU bring or send the private notes.

Our journey was very long and arduous, and towards the
end of it my daughter developed infiuenza in the train which,
as I did not know what it was, frightened me. Also we had a
great escape of being drovraed in the Colorado River. How-
ever, I am glad to say we got through safely. Hoping that
my Report and scheme may be thought satisfactory.

Believe me.

Very truly yours,

H. Rider Haggard.

Some weeks after my return I had a brief interview
with Mr. Lyttelton at the House of Commons — it may
have extended to half an hour, though I think it was
less. He expressed himself delighted with the Report,
which was in his hand. When I asked him if he was
satisfied with my work, he replied, ' Satisfied ? I think
it splendid,' adding, ‘ I wish the Prime Minister would

192 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

take it up. But Arthur won't read it — you know Arthur
won’t read it ! ’

I thought to myself then, and am stiU thinking, that
this ‘Arthur won’t read it ’ was a summary of much
of the action, or lack of action, of the Government of
that day. Mr. Balfour, it has always seemed to me,
during his ten years or so of unquestioned power, had
the greatest opportunity which God has given to any
Englishman of our generation. What exact use he
made of it is not a matter upon which I am qualified to
express a judgment. He and those who were in his
cormsel alone can answer that question. Yet, speaking
as a mere member of the public, it does appear as though
more might have been done. For instance, the House
of Lords, which was, as it were, in his pocket, might
have been reformed, thereby averting all the national
dangers and terrible trouble which have ensued, and the
final surrender to the threats of the Radical party,
made more feeble, some may think, by the bold and
whirling words with which it was preceded.

Again, a Redistribution of Seats Bill might have
been passed — ^it was not impossible with such a majority
— and thereby half the Irish difficulty obviated. Local
taxation might have been equalised ; something, as
I for one urged continually, might have been done to
better the conditions of the land and its inhabitants,
and so forth. Even such a little matter as an urgently
needed Copyright Bill was left for the Radicals to deal
with as best they could in face of the opposition of the
Labour party.

It does strike me that this Conservative Govern-
ment never quite realised that the time had gone
by when it was possible for a happy family party to
philosophise at a round table, calling each other by
their Christian names and sucking the sweets of

REPORT ON LABOUR COLONIES 193

office from year to year, quite satisfied to meet any
emergencies that might arise in a happy-go-lucky,
hand-to-mouth fashion, and to proclaim in weU-
educated voices that, while they ruled, all was well
with the world ; also that the questions which others
thought urgent might be postponed — to a more con-
venient season. Session was added to session, and
stiU they scoffed at the need of any constructive policy.
Meanwhile the thunder-clouds banked up, and that
strong and turbulent spirit, Mr. Chamberlain, growing
impatient of this political lotus-eating, broke away and
ran up a score off his own bat, which to this hour the
Unionist party does not know whether to count in its
total or to sponge from the board.

But, as was subsequently remarked about the very
recent collapse of the resistance of the House of Lords
before the threat of an influx of Radical peers (how long
would they have remained Radical, one wonders ?),
aU this is ‘ ancient history,’ and therefore scarce worthy
of discussion. I think it was Mr. Balfour himself who
made the remark, apparently with a view of stifling
inquiry into what some people think an obscure and
poor-spirited transaction. Surely it is better to die
facing the foe and with one’s armour on than to pull it
off and run away, only to be beaten to death with
sticks afterwards by the enemy’s camp-followers, or
taken prisoner, reclothed in your ermine and coronet,
and mocked before the people. Lord Halsbury and
his stalwarts for my money.

On the occasion of this small Imperial matter with
which I was concerned I confess I did wish that
Mr. Lyttelton could have spared me an hour or two
in which to talk over its leading points with him, as,
for instance. President Roosevelt found himself able
to do in the midst of all the tumultuous ceremonies of

VOL, II.'

194 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

his inauguration. But there, perhaps, came the differ-
ence. Roosevelt was being inaugurated : his time
was before him. The Conservative party was already
a mere corpse galvanised into a semblance of its lost
life, and, standing on the edge of an open grave, it
pretended not to see, its pale eyes fixed upon those
thimder-clouds which, after ten happy years, had
become so very large and definite. Little wonder that
‘ Arthur wouldn’t read ’ reports on matters dealing
with the transference of our superabundant city poor
to colonial settlements. Matters at home, affecting
him much more nearly, left no time for reading. The
affair undertaken in a moment of pressure or enthusiasm
was already forgotten ; it became inconvenient to con-
sider the arguments of individuals who suggested that
something should be done which would involve the
expenditure of thought, time, and money. Had I been
told this at once a great deal of trouble might have been
spared to everyone concerned. The Report might even
have been suppressed altogether.

I am not for one moment arguing that the scheme
I suggested was open to no objections. What was the
problem ? Briefly, in what way more or less broken-
down persons and their families could be moved from
our cities on to colonial land, to their own benefit and
without the nation incurring loss. It is a problem that
as yet no one has been able to solve. I did offer a
scheme that had a fair prospect of success. The money
advanced by the Government was to be secured upon
the settlers’ lands, which lands have since that time
doubled or trebled in value, as I foresaw that they
would do. What I called the ‘ Waste Forces of
Benevolence ’ were to look after the said settlers for
nothing, subject to proper control — a task which the
Salvation Army was quite ready to undertake. More-

REPORT ON LABOUR COLONIES 195

over, with all its enormous expeiiences of emigration,
as the Canadian authorities recognised, it was abso-
lutely competent so to do. Yet bitter prejudice against
the Salvation Army, often enough fostered by persons
in religion who should know better, was one of the
causes that brought the business to the ground.

Without going further into its details I repeat that
the Canadian Government and statesmen approved
this scheme, as did the Governor-General, Lord Grey.
Also when it was published it met with an enormous
amount of support from the Press of this country, as
may be seen by anyone who cares to glance through
the extracts from Press opinions of my Report which
are printed at the end of ' The Poor and the Land,’
wherein it is republished. Here, then, at any rate was
a foundation upon which others might build.

At first the Government seemed to take this view,
but then followed a pause indicative of the evaporation
of enthusiasm. Questions were asked in the House
as to whether the Government intended to do anything.
The thing became a nuisance to them, and at length
it was announced that the matter would be referred to
a Departmental Committee. My first intimation of
this was at a public dinner in London, when a gentle-
man much mixed up in politics as a Conservative agent
informed me that he had just been speaking to a
Minister, who had told him that my Report was to be
sent to a Committee which would ‘ knock the bottom
out of it.’ Then I loiew that all was finished.

And yet, unless I most strangely misunderstood
him, all the while Mr. Lyttelton was a believer in the
plan. He was personally most kind to me, and I liked
him very much. At that time also, as his private
secretary informed me, he wished me to make another
report upon the possibility of applying similar principles

196 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

to a scheme of land settlement at home ; indeed I was
told that it was settled I should be asked to do so.
I understand, however — though of course in this I may
be mistaken — ^that the officials of the Board of Agri-
culture put a stop to this idea, as such an appointment
would have interfered with the prerogative of their
department. At any rate, opposition arose somewhere
and it was dropped. The upshot was that the work
was thrown away, if any good and earnest work ever
is really thrown away.

The end of the matter may be briefly summarised.
As was to be anticipated, ‘ the bottom was knocked
out ' of my scheme in the most satisfactory official way.

The Report of the Committee stated that —

Though we fully recognise the zeal and ability Mr. Rider
Haggard has shown in making his investigations and preparing
his Report, and trust that much good may be done indirectly
by the ventilation of the suggestions that he has made, we
regret to be obliged to say that we consider his scheme to be
open to so many objections that, even if we were prepared to
advocate colonisation in principle, we could not recommend
that this particulcLT scheme should be adopted. . . .

Moreover, we feel that there are serious objections to placing
any such body as the Salvation Army in the position of
managers of a colony dependent on money advanced by the
Imperial Government. . . .

Perhaps on the details the Committee was right.
Who am I that I should question its collective wisdom —
even if it had been ‘ prepared to advocate colonisation
in principle ’ ? Yet I agree with Mr. Lyttelton in the
remarks that he subsequently made to me, that the
good that would have been done by the adoption of
such a scheme would have infinitely outweighed its
disadvantages and the possible, though improbable,
money loss. However this may be, there the thing

REPORT ON LABOUR COLONIES 197

ended. The somewhat nebulous recommendations of
the Committee included ‘ a grant-in-aid ’ to ‘ be given
by the Imperial Government to the Committee formed
vmder the Unemployed Workmen Act, for the purpose
of emigration.'

Or alternatively —

‘ That, in the event of that proposal being rejected,
an annual grant-in-aid for the term of five years should
be made to the Emigrants’ Information Office, to
be expended by them in the emigration of suitable
persons to the British Colonies through such Emigra-
tion Societies as they may select. . ,

These recommendations were dissented from by
Mr. Herbert Samuel, the present Postmaster-General,
and by Mr. H. Lambert, and quahfied in a Note added
to the Report by my late friend Mr. Wilson-Fox, whose
premature death has been such a loss to the public
service of this country.

It is needless to add that, so far, the Report of this
Committee has proved perfectly abortive. A strong
man, such as Mr. Joseph Chamberlain was in his
prime, might have adopted the outline of my ideas
and made something of them. But the strong man
was lacking, and to send them to a hybrid Committee
of mixed views was only to ensure their murder. It is
always so easy to find fault and make objections.

For me personally this issue was painful. I had
worked hard and in all honestness, and, like many
better men, I had found myself thrown over. After
all the Colonial Secretary's declarations as to the value
of my work, etc., I never even received a letter of thanks
from the Government, or, for the matter of that, a copy
of the Report and Evidence of the Committee, which
I had to buy like any other member of the public.
All that I got was the privilege of paying the bill, for

igS THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

of course the small sum allowed by the Rhodes Trustees
did not suf&ce to meet the expenses of my tour in a high
official position through that very expensive country,
the United States.

Thus my mission ended.

In confirmation of what I have stated above I will
now quote a few of the more important letters which
I wrote or received as a Special Commissioner.

The first of these was addressed by me to Lord
Rosebery as Chairman of the Rhodes Trust.

Confidential.

Ditchingham House, Norfolk :

May 20, 1905.

My Lord, — You may know that I am the person who was
sent to investigate the Salvation Army Colonies in America.
I write therefore thinking that perhaps you would wish to hear
from me in the matter.

First, however, as one who has for years taken deep interest
in the problem of the congested cities and the depopulated
land, I desire most heartily to thank the Rhodes Trustees for
their action in having set this investigation on foot.

Very briefly the results are as follows :

On the whole I was well satisfied with the Colonies, per-
ceiving in them a great principle, easy of adaptation.

I proceeded to Canada and showed to various members of
the Government there my draft reports. Also I explained to
them my scheme.

I am glad to be able to say that I was successful in impress-
ing upon them that this scheme is quite sound. Mr. Sifton (a
great power there) even went further and stated that he con-
sidered it of more importance to the Dominion tha-n any plan
of preferential duties.

The issue is that I have brought home with me a despatch
from Sir Wilfrid Laurier granting three hundred and sixty
square miles of their best land for the purposes of the scheme.

REPORT ON LABOUR COLONIES 199

promising as much more as may be required, and stating his
firm belief in the practical nature of my scheme. . . .

I speak with reference to Canada and other Colonies. On
the home side of the question, where dear land and awful
rates and District Councils have to be faced, I am not so sure.
I have offered to go into and prepare a further report on this
point if it is desired.

I have ventured to suggest that a Commissioner should be
sent to South Africa and especially to Rhodesia, to examine
those Colonies and see what they are prepared to do to help.
I have great hope that the tobacco industry in Rhodesia gives
an opening to the small holder. I think also that your Lord-
ship will agree with me that a British population is desirable
in that country.

Believe me,

Very truly yours,

H. Rider Haggard.

The Earl of Rosebery, K.G., etc. etc.

As a result of this letter I had a long interview with
Lord Rosebery in the course of which we discussed the
whole matter in detail. It was the only occasion upon
which I have ever met this remarkable personage. As
he wandered up and down his library and talked of this
and that, he impressed me as a melancholy and dis-
appointed man — one who, in a sense, felt that he had
failed, notwithstanding his brilliant gifts and great
opportunities. His fine nature peeped out in every
sentence that he uttered ; also his disillusionment.
I suggested that he should rhove in this matter in
the House of Lords ; but he did not bring the
matter up there, as a Departmental Committee was
appointed.

Truly the appointment of that Committee was wise
from the point of view of those who wished to put an
end to further agitation on the subject.

200 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

I also received the following letters from Earl Grey :

Toronto : May 20, 1905.

My dear Rider Haggard, — I am delighted to get your
letter which encourages me to hope that the Colonial Office is
in earnest in this matter. As you know, I agree entirely with
you that there is no time to lose — Roosevelt will be glad to
blanket our sails if we give him an opportunity. My im-
pression is that if the Home Government were to refer your
Report to the Canadian Government with a request for an
expression of their opinion as to the practicability of your
recommendations qua Canada and ask for a statement of what
they will do in the matter, it would provide just the stimulus
required to enable the Dominion Government to do something
this Session.

The Department of the Interior, with whom the initiation
of action rests, has been necessarily handicapped by a change of
Minister and the election at Edmonton. The new Minister
has hardly had time to get himself fairly into the saddle. My
impression is that the Government here, if properly approached,
will follow Fielding’s lead — this of course quite private to
yourself.

Yours sincerely,

Grey.

So far as I am aware, the Home Government never
' approached ' that of Canada in the matter,

Cascapedia Club, Grand Cascapedia,

Quebec, Canada : July 4, 1905.

My dear Rider Haggard, — Your report has just reached
me on the banks of the Cascapedia, and I hasten to acknowledge
its receipt.

The life here is not conducive to writing, so I will not try
to say much.

I feax the Canadian Par* which is now preparing itself for
Prorogation, will not be able to consider the question seriously
this Session ^but I will write to Fielding on the subject.

I do not notice in the Blue Book Mark Hanna’s Bill, and
I regret its absence, as it gives a lead and shows the way.

REPORT ON LABOUR COLONIES 201

I hope the British Public will be able to seize the salient
points. If they can by aid of the Press be persuaded to assimi-
late them something ought to result from your visit to the
States.

Forgive more at present.

Yours very truly,

Grey.

I appreciate your generous reference to myself.

I received many letters from Mr. Bramwell Booth,
the present General of the Salvation Army, of which
I will quote one.

Tonbridge : August 3, 1906.

Dear Mr. Haggard, — ^The General desires me to thank you
for your note and telegram, both sent on to him. We are
travelling. He desires me to express to you at once in this
informal way his high sense of the important service you have
rendered to the community by your investigations in the
U.S. and in Canada, and to say that he has read y" Report with
the greatest interest. No doubt he will have the opportunity
of saying all this and more to you before very long.

The General feels much disappointed by the inaction of the
Government, and does not quite understand the line they take.
If, as you suggest, they wish to dispense with the service of
voluntary agencies it appears to him that they will be quite
impotent in this matter. At the same time he sees great
difficulty in arranging any combined action with other organi-
sations such as you name, seeing that, so far as we know, there
are no English Societies having any experience worth talking
of, with whom w^e could combine. And as you know nothing
is more futile, or more dangerotis, than advising people to
advance money on purely speculative proposals.

I have asked Booth-Tucker to send you a copy of a
letter from Bernard Holland from which it appears that the
Committee desire us to give evidence to prove that men taken
from our cities will settle successfully in the prairie of Canada !
Now we shall be very reluctant to attempt such proof, even if
we may feel strongly that the work could be done. It seems to

202

THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

us scarcely reasonable. Moreover evidence have to be
sought in Canada, and considerable expense w'* be incuiTed.
It w'^ appear that in some way there is a wish to set up
y^ Report in order to shoot at it ! That is hardly what you,
or we, were led to expect. However, I expect to be in Town on
Friday and will consider what can be done. The matter is so
important that we must not unduly hurry it.

My own feeling is that Gov‘ has really ceased any serious
intention in this matter — they are practically in a state of
suspended animation.

I must see you. The General does not expect to be in
London until the end of this motor campaign — Sept. 9th.

Very f’fuUy,

W. Bramwell Booth.

H. Rider Haggard, Esq.

There is a mass of further documentary evidence
on this question, but probably the above samples will
suffice to explain everything with sufficient clearness.
Such letters are valuable records which cannot alter or
gloze the truth. I have only to add that old General
Booth was personally very indignant about the treat-
ment which my Report received — ^so indignant that he
refused to appear to give evidence before the Com-
mittee. Indeed his people would not allow him to
do so, because they said they were sure that he would
lose his temper. More than once he declared to me in
his fierce way that, from knowledge in his possession,
he was well aware that the appointment of this Com-
mittee was ‘ a put-up job.' He and the late Mr. Wilson-
Fox used to travel up to town together in the mornings,
and I imagine that from him he extracted a good deal
of information. Also he had other means of getting at
the truth, for the Salvation Army has many friends in
high places and among the various parties.

That is all I have to say about this fiasco. My
Report was destroyed ; the divided recommendations

REPORT ON LABOUR COLONIES 203

of the Departmental Committee, such as they were,
were never acted on : in short, all came to nothing.
Meanwhile the problem remains as pressing as ever it
was. Our cities are still crowded with thousands of
children utterly without prospects, except such as are
afforded by the hospital, the poorhouse, and the gaol,
some of whom, if a scheme analogous to mine had been
adopted, might become healthy, happy and prosperous
on the bountiful land of Canada, and this at little or no
cost to the Mother Country and to the great gain of the
Dominion. On the other hand, the emigration agencies
are still busily employed in picking out the healthy
yormg men and women reared and educated at our
expense from the already depopulated country districts.
By thousands these depart, to return no more, leaving
the land of their birth the poorer for their loss. One
night some years ago I addressed five or six hundred
of them in the board room of Euston Station, while
they were waiting for a special train to Liverpool,
and thought the sight and the occasion extremely sad.
But so it is, and so I suppose it will go on — the devour-
ing cities growing more and more bloated, and the
starved land becoming more and more empty.

Well, I tried my best to help in the matter and
failed. Whether the fault was mine or that of others
I must leave the reader to judge upon the evidence
before him.

CHAPTER XXII

ROYAL COMMISSION ON COAST EROSION AND
AFFORESTATION

Operation in Nursing Home — 'Ayesha' — H. R. H. often asked which he
thinks best passages in his works — An answer to the question — Member
of Royal Commission on Coast Erosion — Lloyd George — Afforestation
added to the reference — Scheme presented to Government — Dropped —
King Edward's funeral — H. R. H. undertook a report for Salvation Army
— Regeneration — General William Booth — His death — H. R. H. wrote
pamphlet for Archbishop Benson — ' Rural Denmark ' — The Development
Board — Notes of interview with Lloyd George — Knighthood conferred
— Offered seat on Dominions Royal Commission — Egypt again — ‘ Marie'
— Dedicated to Sir Henry Bulwer — End of Chronicle of H. R. H.

In the intervals of all this Commission business I
retired for a month or five weeks into a nursing home
to undergo an operation which the effects of my long
journey made necessary.

Never shall I forget that place ! — the lodging-house-
like little drawing-room where patients were received,
and where I had to wait in my dressing-gown while my
room was made ready for the operation ; the dreadful
noise caused by the carriages of theatre-goers returning
home at night or by the rattle of the mail-carts over
the stone-paved road ; the continual operations ; the
occasional rush of the nurses when it was announced
that a patient was passing away ; and so forth.

I had never taken a major anaesthetic before, and
I must say I did not find the process pleasant. I can
still see the face of my friend Dr, Lyne Stivens, and
the jovial, rubicund countenance of the late Professor

204

COAST EROSION AND AFFORESTATION 205

Rose, bending over me as through a mist, both grown
so strangely solemn, and feel the grip of my hand
tightening upon that of the nurse which afterwards it
proved almost impossible to free.

Then came the whirling pit and the blackness.
I suppose that it was like death, only I hope that
death is not quite so dark !

From this blackness I awoke in a state of utter
intoxication to find the nurses of the establishment
gathered round me with sheets of paper and the
familiar, hateful autograph books in which, even in
that place and hour, they insisted I should write.
Heaven knows what I set down therein : I imagine
they must have been foolish words, which mayhap one
day will be brought up against me.

Another question : Wliy cannot the public authori-
ties establish reaUy suitable nursing homes for paying
patients ? This would be a great boon to thousands,
and, I should imagine, self-supporting.

However, of one of these nurses at any rate,
a widow, I have grateful recollections. I amused
myself, and, I trust, her, by reading ‘ Ayesha ’ aloud
to her during my long wakeful hours — for she was a
night nurse.

This book ‘ Ayesha,’ which was published while
I was in the nursing home, is a sequel to ' She,’ which,
in obedience to my original plan, I had deliberately
waited for twenty years to write. As is almost always
the case, it suffered somewhat from this fact, at any rate
at the hands of those critics with whom it is an article of
faith to declare that no sequel can be good. StiU, I have
met and heard from many people who like ‘ Ayesha ’
better than they do ‘ She.’

Lang was very doubtful about this book. He
wrote :

2o6 the days of my LIFE

You may think me a hound, but I only found out as I
went to bed last night that ‘ Ayesha ’ was in the drawing-room.
Awfully good of you to make me such a nice dedication,
grammar right too, which I name because in a very jolly book
egalement dedie to me the grammar is wrong, but I could not
point that out to the author.

I am almost afraid to read ‘ She,’ as at 61,00000 one has no
longer the joyous creduhty of forty, and evenyow imagination
is out of the fifth form. However, plenty of boys are about,
and I hope they will be victims of the enchantress. , . .

I was therefore correspondingly relieved, believing
as I do that Lang’s judgment on imaginative fiction
was the soundest of any man of his time, and knowing
his habit of declaring the faith that was in him without
fear, favour, or prejudice, when on the following day
I received another note in which he said :

It is all right : I am Thrilled : so much obliged. I thought
I was too Old, but the Eternal Boy is still on the job. Un-
luckily I think the dam reviewers never were boys — ^most of
them the Editor’s nieces. May it be done into Thibetan.
Dolmen business in Chapter I all right !

I have often been asked, and have been careful
never to answer the question, as to what I considered
the best passages in my own humble writings. It is
a very favourite query of the casual correspondent,
from whom I receive, on an average, a letter a day,
and sometimes many, many more. Now in acknow-
ledgment of them all I reply — Ignosi’s chant in ' King
Solomon’s Mines,’ as it appears in the later editions of
that book (the same that Stevenson called ‘ a very
noble imitation ’) ; the somewhat similar chant to the
Sun in ‘ Allan Quatermain ’ ; the scene where Eric
Brighteyes finds his mother dead — which Lang declared
was ‘ as good as Homer ’ — and the subsequent fight in
the hall at Middlehof ; the description of the wolves

COAST EROSION AND AFFORESTATION 207

springing up at the dead body in the cave in ‘ Nada the
Lily ' ; the transformation in the chapter called ‘ The
Change ’ and ‘ The Loosing of the Powers ’ in ‘ Ayesha ' ;
a speech made by the heroine Mameena as she dies,
in an unpublished work called ' Child of Storm,' with
the rest of her death scene ; the account of the passion
of John and Jess as they swung together wrapt in each
other's arms in the sinking waggon on the waters of the
flooded Vaal ; and, oh ! I know not what besides.
When one has written some fifty books the memory is
scarce equal to the task of searching for plums amidst
the dough. Also, when one has found them, they seem
on consideration to be but poor plums at best. Also
one thinks differently of their relative merits or demerits
at different times. For instance, how about ' She's'
speech before she enters the fire ? and the holding of
the stair by old Umslopogaas ? and the escape of the
ship in ‘ Fair Margaret ' ? or the battle of Crecy in
' Red Eve ' ? If I am asked what book of mine I think
the best as a whole, I answer that one, yet unpublished,
to my mind is the most artistic. At any rate, to some
extent, it satisfies my literary conscience. It is the
book named ‘ Child of Storm,' to which I have alluded
above, and is a chapter in the history of ‘ Allan
Quatermain.' Of Allan, for obvious reasons, I can
^ways write, and of Zulus, whose true inwardness
I understand by the light of Nature, I can always
write, and — well, the result pleases at least one reader
— ^myself. Whether it will please others is a different
matter.

So, at last I have tried to answer the inquiries
of the all-pervading casual correspondent in a some-
what superficial fashion. To do so thoroughly would
involve weeks of reading of much that I now forget.

When I escaped from that nursing home, very

2o8

THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

feeble and with much-shattered nerves, I went to stay
with my friend Lyne Stivens to recuperate, and thence
for a day or two to Kipling’s. Here I remember we
compounded the plot of ‘ The Ghost Kings ’ together,
writing down our ideas in alternate sentences upon the
same sheet of foolscap.

Among my pleasantest recollections during the last
few years are those of my visits to the Kiphngs, and
one that they paid me here, during which we discussed
everything in heaven above and earth beneath. It is,
I think, good for a man of rather solitary habits now
and again to have the opportunity of familiar converse
vnth a brilliant and creative mind. Also we do not
fidget each other. Thus only last year Kipling in-
formed me that he could work as well when I was sitting
in the room as though he were alone, whereas generally
the presence of another person while he was writing
would drive him almost mad. He added that he
supposed the explanation to be that we were both of
a trade, and I dare say he is right. I imagine, however,
that sympathy has much to do with the matter.

Of late years Kipling has been much attacked,
a fate with which I was once most familiar, since at
one time or the other it overtakes the majority of those
who have met with any measure of literary, or indeed
of other success — ^unless they happen to be Scotchmen,
when they are sure of enthusiastic support from their
compatriots always and everywhere. The English, it
seems to me, lack this clan feeling, and are generally
prepared to rend each other to pieces in aU walks of
life, perhaps because our race is of such mixed origin.
In Kipling’s case some of these onslaughts are doubtless
provoked by his strong party feeling and pronounce-
ments, though the form they take is for the most part
criticism of his work. Even on the supposition that

Rose Border, Flower Garden, Ditcfilngham

{From *A i.ia7-denc7's Year-')

COAST EROSION AND AFFORESTATION 209

this is not always of quite the same quality, such
treatment strikes me as ungenerous. No man is con-
tinually at his best, and the writer of ‘ Recessional '
and other noble and beautiful things should be spared
these scourgings. However, I have no doubt it will
all come right in the end, and I hope that when this
book is published he may be wearing the Order of
Merit.

Nowadays everything is in extremes, and the over-
praised of one year are the over-depreciated of the
next, since, as much or more than most people, critics,
or the papers that employ them, like to be in the
fashion. It is fortunate that, however much it may
be influenced at the time, the ultimate judgment lies
in the mouth of the general public, which, in the issue,
is for the most part just. It is fortunate also that
only a man's best work will come before this final court,
since in our crowded age the rest must soon evaporate.

The next important event that happened to me
was my nomination in the year 1906 as a member of
the Royal Commission on Coast Erosion. It happened
thus. Seeing that such a Commission was to be
appointed, I wrote to Mr. Lloyd George, who was then
the President of the Board of Trade in the new Radical
Government, explaining to him a method I had adopted
of keeping back the sea by the planting of Marram
grass. This plan had proved most successful so far
as the frontage of my house, Kessingland Grange, near
Lowestoft, was concerned, and I suggested that it
might with advantage be more widely followed.

Mr. Lloyd George asked me to come to see him,
which I did, with the result that ultimately I found
myself a member of the Royal Commission whereof
Lord Ashby St. Ledgers, then Mr. Ivor Guest, was the

210 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

Chairman. Lord Ashby St. Ledgers was at the time
quite a young man whom I liked very much, and with
whom I got on extremely well ; indeed he was always
most kind and considerate to me. So far he has been
extraordinarily fortunate in life, and I hope that his
good chance may continue. Bom to great wealth,
while still young he finds himself a member of the
Government, a Privy Councillor, and a peer in his own
right without the necessity of waiting for his father's
title. Truly the baU is at his feet and, with his con-
siderable business abilities, he should be able to kick
it far, as I hope he may.

How strangely do the lots of men vary, especially
in this old-established land ! One toils aU his life to
attain in old age, or more probably not to attain at all,
what another steps into from the beginning as a natural
right and almost without efiort on his part. One man
misfortune follows fast and follows faster ; another
seems to pass from childhood to a very distant grave
without a heartache or a stumble ; neither he nor those
connected with him are called upon to face work, or
want, or struggle, or to know any kind of human loss
or suffering or anxiety of the soul — that is, so far as we
can judge.

Almost am I inclined to think that the Prince
Fortunatus of this character, of whom everybody wiU
know several, must have behaved himself very well in
a previous incarnation and now be reaping the harvest
of reward. Or maybe — this is a more unpleasant
idea — his good things are appointed to him here like
those of Dives in the Bible, and— there are breakers
ahead. Unless the world is regulated by pure chance,
there must be some explanation of these startling differ-
ences of fate. Or perhaps the fortunate ones have their
owoi bitternesses which are invisible to other eyes.

COAST EROSION AND AFFORESTATION 211

Well, one may speculate on such problems, but to do
the work that comes to one’s hand thoroughly, to
thank God for and be content with what one has and
to envy no man — these are the only real recipes for
such satisfaction and happiness as are allowed to us
in our mortal pilgrimage. Such, at least, is my atti-
tude, though I must say I agree with Disraeli that
life has more to offer to those who begin it with £3000
a year, and with Becky Sharp who remarked sagely
that in these circumstances it was easier to be virtuous !

I worked hard on that Royal Commission. During
the five years of its life, indeed, I only missed one
day’s sitting, and that was because the steamer from
Denmark could not get me there in time. Shortly
after the commencement of its labours I was nominated
the Chairman of the Unemployed Labour and Reclama-
tion Committee, which involved a good deal of extra,
but important and interesting, business. Also I was
the Chairman of two of the tours that were made by
committees of the Commission to inspect the coasts of
Great Britain and Ireland, during which tours I am
glad to say there were no differences of opinion or other
troubles, such as have been known to arise on similar
occasions.

When we had been sitting about a year, finding that
there was not really very much in the Coast Erosion
business, which had been somewhat exaggerated. Lord
Ashby St. Ledgers and I approached Mr. Lloyd George
one night at a dinner party and suggested that, as had
been originally proposed, the question of Afforestation
should be added to our Reference. This was done, and
some experts in the matter were appointed to the
Commission. After this we investigated that great
subject with much zeal and, being pressed by the
Government, presented an interim Report. It was

212 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

drafted, with the assistance of course of our clever and
industrious secretary, Mr. Grimshaw, of the Board of
Trade, by the Chairman, Professor Somerville, and
myself, quorum pars magna fuit my extremely able and
learned friend, Professor SomerviUe. We presented a
scheme for the consideration of the Government, under
which, had it been adopted, enormous areas of waste
or poor land in the United Kingdom would in due
course have become forests of great value Needless
to say it was not adopted ; its fate was the fate of my
Land Settlement Report, minus the appointment of
a Committee to ‘ knock the bottom out of it.’ The
fact is that the venture was too sound and quiet to
be undertaken by a Government of party men who
look for immediate political reward rather than to the
welfare of the country forty or fifty years hence,
especially when, as was likewise the case in my Land
Settlement Report, the immediate finding of large
sums of money is involved.

Also the inevitable critics arose. Gentlemen who
thought that they ought to have been on the Com-
mission, gentlemen who thought that they ought to
have been called as witnesses, gentlemen who honestly
disagreed, shouted aloud in the accustomed chorus, and
in the end the thing was practically dropped. Which
is a pity, for it would have worked well in the long run
and proved of great benefit to the United Kingdom in
those coming days when the timber supplies of the
world will run short. Also it would have given a great
deal of employment on land which now uses but little
labour. However, I did not feel its failure in the same
way as I had felt that of my one-man Report, since
now I shared the responsibility with about a score of
distinguished persons who had unanimously made our
futile recommendations to the Crown. It was one

COAST EROSION AND AFFORESTATION 213

more piece of, to all appearances, wasted work, that
was all. I must say I do not wonder that many
officials become slack and remain well content to do
as little as they can, seeing what are the results which
overtake those ardent spirits who show themselves
guilty of trop de zele. Cold shoulders and rapped
knuckles, these are their portion.

After the funeral of our Afforestation scheme we
proceeded to examine more coasts. I wonder if there
is a groin or an eroded beach on the shores of the
United Kingdom that I have not seen and thoughtfully
considered. Amongst other places we went to Ireland,
where, as the Chairman of the Committee, I examined
all the southern coasts of that beauteous isle ; also
a fine variety of inland swamps which it was thought
possible to reclaim.

It was a very interesting experience because of the
number and different classes of people with whom we
came in contact as we journeyed from place to place
in motor-cars.

I found the Irish the most charming and attractive
people that I have ever met and the most incompre-
hensible. What rather disgusted me, however, was
the mendicant attitude of mind which again and again
I observed among those who gave evidence before us.
They all wanted something out of the Government,
and generally something for nothing. I remember
growing enraged with one witness, a most shameless
beggar, and saying to him, ‘ The fact is, sir, that after
the British Government has given you the horse, you
expect that they should feed it also.'

‘ Shure, your Honour ! ’ he answered, quite unper-
turbed, or words to that effect.

As I was dressing one morning at a Cork hotel,
I received a telegram informing me that King Edward

214 the days of my life

had died during the night. We did not leave Cork
till ten or eleven o’clock, but up to that hour, although
the news was well known, I saw no indication of public
mourning. No bells were rung, and no flags flew at
half-mast. This may have been mere carelessness, or
it may have been — ^something else. That day, when
stopping under a tree to shelter from a heavy shower,
I fell into conversation with an Irish farmer of the
humorous type, and told him the sad intelligence. He
reflected for a moment, then said, ‘ Is that so, your
Honour ? Well, he’s gone ! Let’s thank God and the
saints it isn’t us ! ’

On the other hand, the same tidings moved an old
woman in a wretched shanty in Connemara literally
to tears.

‘ And it’s dead he is,’ she said to me. ‘ Shure, he
was a grand man ! Never a week but he sent me five
shilhngs with his own name to it.’

Further queries elicited the fact that this old lady
beheved that his late Majesty personally posted to her
five shillings each Monday morning, which she drew
at the Post Office in the shape of an Old Age Pension !
Hence her loyal soul.

On my return to London I saw King Edward’s body
lying in state in Westminster Hall, and afterwards
watched the noble panorama of his funeral from the
upper balcony of the Athenaeum. Thomas Hardy and
I sat together ; there were, I remember, but few in
the club.

The great military pageant of the passing of the
mortal remains of King Edward brought back to my
mind that of the burial of Queen Victoria. This I saw
from the house of one of the minor Canons, which was
exactly opposite to the steps of the Chapel at Windsor.
The sight of the gorgeous procession passing up those

COAST EROSION AND AFFORESTATION 215

steps impressed itself very deeply on me. The bearers
staggering under the weight of the massive leaden
coffin that yet seemed so short, tiU once or twice I
thought that they must faU ; the cloaked King
Edward walking immediately behind, followed by
a galaxy of princes ; the officer, or aide-de-camp, who
came to him, saluting, to make some report or ask
some order, and received a nod in answer ; the troops
with arms reversed ; the boom of the solemn guns ;
the silent, watching multitude ; the bright sun gilding
the wintry scene ; the wind that tossed the plumes
and draperies — ^aU these and more made a picture never
to be forgotten. And now, after a few brief years, the
mourning monarch who formed its central, living figure
passed by in another coffin, himself the mourned !

A few days after the funeral I met at dinner one of
the physicians who attended the late King during his
last illness. He told me that he did not think that
His Majesty knew he was dying, and that no one
informed him. He thought that the King believed
that he would pull through, as he had often done
before. When it was suggested to him that he had
better not see people, he answered, ‘ It amuses me,’
and that he did not want any ‘ fuss.’ This doctor
was of opinion that there was nothing in the story that
the King had worried himself over the political situa-
tion, as he was ' not that sort of man.’ He died
because his heart was worn out, for he had ‘ warmed
both hands at the fire of life.’ He did not seem to be
spiritually troubled in any way, though he kept ‘ all
the forms.’ He added that on the day he died the
King smoked a cigar.

Whilst I was still engaged upon this Commission
I undertook another piece of work. One day General

2i6 the days of my LIFE

Booth sent an officer to me to ask if I would write
a report upon the social efforts and institutions of the
Salvation Army, for which it would be prepared to
pay a fee, to be arranged. I answered that I had no
time, and that in any case I would not touch their
money. Ultimately, however, I made the time and
undertook the task as a labour of love, on the condition
that they should pay the out-of-pocket expenses. It
took me about three months in all, including the
travelling to various cities in England and Scotland,
and as a result I published my book, ‘ Regeneration,'
of the copyright of which I made the Army a present.
I do not suppose that this has proved a valuable gift,
as, to find a large sale, such books must be of the ultra-
‘ sensational ’ order, which mine was not.

I saw much of human misery in the course of that
business, in which I was assisted by my friend, Mr. D. R.
Daniel, one of the secretaries of the Royal Commission.
But all of this is recorded in the pages of the book, so
I need not dwell upon it here. I emerged from this
work with a most whole-hearted admiration for the
Salvation Army and its splendid, self-sacrificing labours
among the lowest of the low. Its success with these,
where so many have failed, remains something of a
mystery to my mind, which I can only explain by
a belief that it is aided through the agency of the
Power above us. Nothing else will account for the trans-
formations it effects in the natures of utterly degraded
men and women. Long may it endure and prosper 1

I have known General Booth for many years ; my
first interview with him, one of great interest, is
printed verbatim in ' Rural England. ’ We were always
the best of friends, perhaps because I was never afraid
of him, as seemed to be the case with so many of those
by whom he was surrounded, and was always ready to

COAST EROSION AND AFFORESTATION 217

give him a Roland for his Oliver in the way of what is
known as chaff. I have seen him under sundry condi-
tions, of which, perhaps, the funniest was the following.
One day, after he had been holding a great meeting for
City men in London, at which I was present, I took
a gentleman to visit him who I thought might be able
to help his cause. We found him at his of&ce in Queen
Victoria Street, stripped to his red Salvation jersey,
streaming with perspiration, and very cross because
his tea, or whatever the meal was called, was not ready.
He was calling out, officers were flying here and there,
some one was trying to soothe him, and so on. At
length the meal arrived, consisting of a huge dish of
mushrooms and a pot of strong tea. Contemplating
this combination of fungi and tannin, I remarked that
never before had I understood the height and depth
and breadth of his faith in the heavenly protection.

This reminds me of a story which Captain Wright,
a member of the Salvation Army who acted as one of
my secretaries in America, told me of the General’s
peculiar diet. Wright was travelling with him when
he was tearing round the States preaching in the great
cities. At that time his fancy was to eat two boiled
Spanish onions before he went to rest, and it was
Wright's business to see that those onions were there.
One unlucky night, however, after a particularly
exhausting meeting they arrived at the hotel, where
all the attendants had gone to bed, to find two very
massive onions reposing on the plate as usual, but just as
they had left, not the saucepan, but their mother earth !

Of the row that ensued the captain spoke to me in
the hushed voice of awe.^

^ General Booth said to me — more than once : ' Ah t but you would look
grand in my uniform.' Whereto I would reply quite truly that I was not fit
to wear that wedding garment, or words to that effect. — H. R. H,

2i8

THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

The old General wrote as follows about my book,

‘ Regeneration.’ The letter is a very good specimen
of his fine, bold handwriting, although at that time his
sight was already feeble.

International Headquarters,

London, E.C. : December lo, 1910.

My dear Rider Haggard, — I have just read ‘ Regenera-
tion.’ It is admirable. You have not only seen into the
character and purpose of the work we are trying to do, with the
insight of a true genius, but with the sympathy of a big and
generous soul. From my heart I thank you.

May the blessing of the living God rest upon you, and on
Mrs. Haggard and on your daughters, both for this life and the
life to come.

Believe me.

Yours very sincerely,

William Booth.

Rider Haggard, Esq., J.P.

On May 20, 1912, the General wrote to me, saying
that he was to undergo at once an operation for cataract
on his remaining eye, one being already blind.

The signature to this touching letter, written just
before his last illness, for death followed on the heels
of that operation, is somewhat irregular, for then he
was practically blind, but still in the old firm hand-
writing. Three months later to the day he died, and
I received the following telegram, dated 21st August :

With deepest sorrow I have to announce the General laid
down his sword at 10.15 Hst night. Pray for us.

Bramwell Booth.

So William Booth passed away. If there is any
reward elsewhere for the deeds of good men, his should
be great. Here on earth he has built himself a monu-
ment of thousands of regenerated hearts. Why, I
wonder, was burial in Westminster Abbey not offered

COAST EROSION AND AFFORESTATION 219

for his remains ? I suppose the answer is — ^because he
did not belong to the Church of England. Yet if the
Abbey can open its ancient doors to those who amused
many of the people — eminent actors, for instance —
it seems hard that these should be closed to one who
saved so many of the people, and in all lands.

The book ‘ Regeneration ’ was extremely well
reviewed by scores of papers, both here and in other
countries, especially in America ; thus I remember
The Times gave it a leading article. I only saw two
indifferent notices of it — in Church of England journals
— ^and these were aimed more at the Salvation Army
than at the work itself.

In my time I have done one or two little pieces of
writing for somewhat similar objects. Thus many
years ago I was responsible for a pamphlet called
‘ Church and State,’ which I composed in defence of
the Established Church of Wales that was then, as
now, threatened with disendowment. This was under-
taken at the request of the late Edward Benson,
Archbishop of Canterbury, who wrote to me at some
length in August 1894, giving me the various points
on which he thought stress should be laid.

The pamphlet was written in due course and
approved of by the Archbishop, who wrote to me in
November of the same year :

I must give you my most cordial thanks — imthe;name of
all interested — and they are Legion — for your admirable and
telling paper. It is presumptuous in me to use epithets. . . .
We are all very grateful to you.

I never spoke to Archbishop Benson, although I
often saw him at the Athenaeum, Indeed one night
we dined next to each other at separate tables and
alone. I remember that I was tempted to address

220

THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

him, for he did not know me by face, but, remembering
that busy men seldom like to be troubled at their rest
by strangers, I refrained. So the opportunity went
by, for which I am sorry, as I should have liked to
make the personal acquaintance of this good and very
earnest prelate.

I have always thought that he was most happy in
the manner of his death, which took place suddenly
while he was at prayer. Such would be the end that
I should choose, if choice lay within our power.

Another task that I undertook in the intervals of
my Royal Commission was an agricultural investi-
gation which resulted in my book 'Rural Denmark,’
whereof a new edition is just about to appear. What
I saw in that country was to me little less than a
revelation, but I need not dwell on it in these pages.
Here I found the answer to the problem which had
puzzled me for so many years — namely, how agri-
culture could be made to pay in a Free Trade country
with an indifferent climate. That answer undoubtedly
is : By means of medium or small holdings, for the
most part owned and not rented, aided by universal
co-operation, which will only flourish in the absence
of too many large farmers, and by a system akin to
that which is known as credit-banks. Thus supported,
the soil of Denmark, which is on the whole poorer than
our own and afflicted with an even worse climate,
manages out of its small extent, equal only to that of
Scotland, to export over twenty milhons sterling worth
of agricultural produce, chiefly to the British Isles, in
addition to the amount which it keeps at home for
sustenance in a densely populated land.

What Denmark does most undoubtedly the United
Kingdom could do, though perhaps with some variation
in the actual products. This, however, wiU not.

COAST EROSION AND AFFORESTATION 221

I think, happen under that aftermath of feudalism,
our present system of hired farms, many of which are
larger than the tenant can manage, and, as a conse-
quence, indifferently cultivated. Nor will co-operation
on a large scale arise under these circumstances.
Owners with no landlord to run to must co-operate in
self-protection ; tenants, and cspeciall}'- large tenants,
do not do so.

I was anxious to serve on the Development Board,
in the interests of Afforestation, and also I felt that it
had its roots, or at any rate some of them, planted in
the soil of my book ' Rural England.’

Here I will insert a note that I made of a conversa-
tion which took place betw'een Mr. Lloyd George and
myself in May 1909, which thi'ows a good deal of light
upon this matter.

Summary of my Conversation with Mr. Lloyd George
ON May II, 1909.

{Made from notes taken on the same morning.)

On Friday the 7th of May I met Mr. Lloyd George in
Parliament Street. He said he ‘ must see me,’ and after some
conversation asked me to breakfast on the following Tuesday.

I began by putting the case for the adoption of our
Afforestation scheme as forcibly as I could, arguing that
Afforestation should be placed in the hands of a Permanent
Royal Commission.

The Chancellor's answer amounted to this : That he was
most anxious to see our Afforestation plan go through on what-
ever scale could be arranged. He told me that this was very
largely, if not chiefly, because I had personally succeeded in
interesting him much in the matter when we met and stayed
together at Carrow Abbey last year. The advocates of Affor-
estation were, he considered, very fortunate in having to deal
with him, since he was sure that no Chancellor who went

222

THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

before him, and none who were in the least likely to follow
after him, would listen to them for a moment. As it was he
had but one earnest supporter in this matter in the Cabinet —
Winston ChurchiU.

I suggested John Burns also, inasmuch as the Labour
party were aU in favour of an Afforestation scheme.

He replied ; No, at heart Burns was not in favour of it,
and for the reason that the Labour party were. He added
that J. B. was ‘ thoroughly wrong ’ with the Labour party.

In Parliament, Mr. Lloyd George continued, this party
was the only one from which he received any support as to
Afforestation. Although they had seemed to be in favour of it
a few months ago, and even keen for it, the rest of the Liberal
party now appeared tc care nothing for it, while the Unionists
of course were hostile on principle ; also because they feared
it would interfere with sport.

All these considerations made the matter difficult for him.
Also there was another. In the Parliamentary war over the
Budget the money necessary might easily be cut off.

I then passed on to the question of a permanent Royal
Commission.

He said he did not see how it could be managed for
Afforestation alone, but that it might be for the purposes
of the administration of the Development Grant as a whole.
Personally he was entirely adverse to the passing over of that
Grant into the power of any official Department.

I replied that one permanent Royal Commission to deal
with the whole Development Grant would quite meet my ideas,
provided that Afforestation was adequately represented
thereon.

I asked how many he would have on the Commission.
He replied he feared that it must be a large one, as he supposed
it would be necessary to put on representatives of the various
Public Offices.

A discussion then ensued as to who would be the best
Chairman for the Development Board or Commission. We
talked over various names that seemed to fulfil the qualifica-
tions he considered necessary, namely, that this Chairman
should be a man of rank and wealth if possible. As regards

COAST EROSION AND AFFORESTATION 223

this point he said that there was some force in the criticism
that the proposed Development Board might possibly become
a tool of party or other subtle form of corruption, and even
descend to the perpetration of jobs.

I suggested that the way to avoid this would be to put on
it none but men of the highest character who were known to
be impartial and open-minded and who were generally respected
by the country. He agreed.

The names suggested for the Chairmanship, so far as I
remember, were Lord Desborough, Sir Herbert Maxwell, and
Lords Milner and Curzon (these two by myself). Lord Curzon,
he thought, would bring a great deal of dignity to the office,
but too much of the ‘ viceregal manner.’ Milner’s name he
favoured, but finally seemed to conclude that he was in a sense
too strong a man, who with his charming manner would
invariably in the end get his own way, which might not always
be the right way, and carry the Commission with him. Finally
after a pause I suggested Lord Rosebery.

‘ Rosebery ’ ! he said, sitting down and thinking. ‘ Rose-
bery ! the very man ! Politically detached, universally
known, beyond suspicion, and a master of the subject. The
very man — that’s a stroke of genius of yours — if he will serve.’

I then said I thought there ought to be a Vice-Chairman
also, to which he seemed to assent. I mentioned further that
being much interested in all these subjects, I should like to
serve on that Commission if it were ever formed. He nodded
and raised no objection to this, but how much or how little
that may mean I do not know.

When I bade him good-bye he was sending a secretary over
to the Prime Minister to ask at what time he could see him that
morning, in order, I understood, to discuss the whole matter.

The general impression left upon my mind is that Mr.
Lloyd George means to put this business through if he can,
but owing to the great forces, secret and open, ranged against
him and it, that he is not quite certain of his ability to do so.

On Christmas Day, 1909, I received a letter from
Lord Ashby St. Ledgers, my Chairman, in which he
said :

224 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

I had a conversation yesterday with Lloyd George, and he
intimated that he intended to offer you a post as Commissioner
under the Development Board.

I told him it was slave-driving not to offer you a salary with
it, but he said that his limit of £3000 per aimum had not
enabled him yet to secure a permanent official, and that it
would involve an amendment of the Act to provide anything
for anyone else.

He spoke of Dick Cavendish for Chairman, and Horace
Plunkett and an Irishman for the other two.

Then he goes on to talk of Afforestation in con-
nection with the proposed Board.

I should explain here that although if a salary had
come my way I should not have refused it, considering
the time and work involved, money was not my object
in wishing to serve on this Board. That, as I subse-
quently informed Mr. Lloyd George, I should have been
glad to do for nothing as a piece of public duty.

Afterwards, by his direction, an interview took
place at the Ritz Hotel between Lord Ashby St.
Ledgers, on behalf of the Government, Lord Richard
Cavendish, and myself, at which we discussed the
whole policy of the future administration of the Act.

It might now have been thought that this matter
was settled, but again there proved to be many a
slip, etc.

In order to put an end to the attacks Lloyd George
went to Mr. Walter Long, who was leading the Oppo-
sition on the Unionist side, offering to knock off one
name — I believe it was that of my friend and colleague.
Professor Somerville, though of this I am not sure —
but saying ‘ I must have Rider Haggard.’ To this
Mr. Long agreed, and the matter was then adjourned
to the following night — I think the last of the session.
Again the trouble began, and Sir Frederick Banbury,

COAST EROSION AND AFFORESTATION 225

either throwing over or not knowing of the arrange-
ment with Mr. Long, threatened to stop the whole
thing, once more in a thin House, unless the number of
Commissioners was reduced to eight. So, as my name
was the last on the list, for all the others had been
announced, it was struck off to prevent the hanging-up
till after the adjournment of the Amendings Act,
which I think was being rediscussed upon its return
from the House of Lords.

Thus it came about that I, who directly and in-
directly had played a considerable part in connection
with this beneficent measure, was prevented from
having any share in its administration.

The Royal Commission on Coast Erosion and
Afforestation came to its end at last when we signed
a Report that was practically unanimous, save for one
or two reservations, of which I drafted all that portion
that has to do with Reclamation, I believe that
our recommendations, which contain nothing very
startling, are to be made the subject of an Act of
Parliament at some future date.

I made some good friends upon that Commission,
notably that charming and able geologist. Professor
Jehu (to whom I dedicated my tale ‘ Red Eve ’),
who was my constant companion during those five
years, and dear old Sir WiUiam ffolkes, now gone from
among us.

I missed that Commission very much, since its
sittings took me to London from time to time, and
gave me a change of mental occupation and interests.
Indeed I do not remember ever being more con-
sistently depressed than I was during the first part
of the following winter. Here, as I no longer shoot,
I had nothing to do, except the daily grind of romance-
writing, relieved only by Bench business, my farm

VOL. II. Q

226 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

affairs, and an afternoon walk through the mud with
the two spaniels, Bustle and Jeekie, and a chat after
church on Sunday upon the affairs of the nation
with my fellow-churchwarden, friend and neighbour,
Mr. Carr, the squire of this place. Also bronchitis,
which had threatened me for some years, troubled me
much. I thought that I had shaken it off, but caught
it again during a cold snap, staying at a Cambridge
college, whither I went to address a large meeting upon
the possibility of establishing agricultural training
institutions upon the Danish model. So I returned
here, enjoyed the bronchitis, and began to write this
autobiography, for really it seemed as though every-
thing had come to an end.

Then of a sudden things changed, as they have
a way of doing in life. Thus one morning about
Christmas-time I found amongst my correspondence
a communication from the Prime Minister informing
me that the King had been pleased to confer a knight-
hood upon me. I had often thought and said that
I did not think I should care to be knighted. Indeed
when a year or two before it was suggested to me
through a semi-official channel on behalf of a very
powerful Minister, that if I wished for a baronetcy
it might perhaps be arranged, I said at once, and
firmly, that I did not. Baronetcies are for rich men
who have male heirs, not for persons hke myself.

However, I took the knighthood when it was
definitely offered, on the ground that it is a mistake
to refuse anything in this world ; also that a title is
useful in the public service, and especially so abroad.
Moreover, it was Recognition, for which I felt grateful ;
for who is there that does not appreciate recognition
particularly after long years of, I hope, disinterested
toil ?

COAST EROSION AND AFFORESTATION 227

A week or so after the announcement of my honour,
on January ii, 1912, the post brought me another
interesting and more important letter, from which
I will quote one or two passages.

Colonial Office : January 10, 1912.

Dear Mr. Haggard, — You are probably aware that at the
Imperial Conference of last year it was decided to appoint a
Royal Commission to visit the various Dominions and report
upon them. I enclose a copy of the Resolution of the Con-
ference and another of the suggested Terms of Reference.
You will notice that the Fiscal Question is carefully excluded
from the purview of the Commission. The inquiry will prob-
ably extend over three years, though it wiU not occupy any-
thing like the whole of that time, and it will entail three visits
to the Dominions — one of three months to Canada and New-
foundland, another of three months to South Africa, and another
of six months to Australia and New Zealand. These visits
will take place in different years and will not be continuous.
Of course, following the precedent of all other Royal Com-
missions there will be no remuneration for the Commissioners
[then follow details as to travelling allowance, etc.]. There is
to be one Commissioner for each of the five Dominions and six
British Commissioners. Lord Inchcape is to be the Chairman,
and the Prime Minister and I are very anxious to try to induce
you to be one of the British Commissioners. . . .

Yours very truly,

L. Harcourt.

In a subsequent letter Mr. Harcourt wrote :

I greatly hope that you will be able to accept, and I trust
for the sake of the reading public that the Commission will not
prevent you from pursuing a good deal of your usual avocations,
and might even incidentally provide materials !

I need scarcely say that to my mind this was
recognition — ^with a vengeance. Charles Longman
remarked when I told him the news, at which he was

228 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

delighted, ' I would rather have heard this than that
they had given you a peerage. Anyone can be a peer,
but to be one of the six men chosen to represent the
United Kingdom on a great Empire inquiry of this
sort is a real honour.’

I agree with him, especially as I have no wish to
be a peer. Also to me the compliment seemed the
more marked for the reason that it was paid to an
individual who first became known to the public as
a writer of romantic literature, an occupation that does
not dispose the British nation to take those who follow
it seriously. Now I saw that all my long years of toil
in investigating and attempting to solve the grave
problems which lie at the root of the welfare of our
country had not been without effect upon the minds
of its rulers, and I felt proportionately grateful and
honoured.

Of course the acceptance of this Royal Com-
missionership involves serious sacrifices in my case,
exclusive of that of long separation from my family.
Thus it will necessitate the partial shutting down of
my home here ; and how I am to carry on my literary
work in the intervals of so much public labour, really
I do not know I I felt, as did my wife, and still feel
that such considerations should not be allowed to
interfere with the execution of what I look upon as
a high and honourable duty.

Subsequently I had a long interview with Mr.
Harcourt, in the course of which we discussed matters
connected with the Commission and other things. He
struck me as a singularly able and agreeable man,
quite unlike his father. Sir William Harcourt, whom
Mso I used to know, and yet in a way resembling him.
It seems an odd thing to say, but I thought the tone
of his mind very conservative, and before I left him

COAST EROSION AND AFFORESTATION 229

found myself wondering how it came about that one
who is so very much an English gentleman, in the old
and best sense of the word, and an aristocrat, finds
it easy to rub political shoulders with certain mem-
bers of the present Radical party, who hate Enghsh
gentlemen and aristocrats.

The same remark applies to Sir Edward Grey and
to some others. I suppose the truth is that nowadays
those who elect to lie down between the somewhat
gamey party blankets must expect queer bedfellows.
One wonders which set in the end will thrust the other
out of that uneasy couch. Though the mass of the
congregation may change, most of us continue to
worship in the Church into which we were baptised —
yes, even if its priests from time to time give new
renderings to some of the ancient doctrines. That is
human nature, and the simile suggests a key to the
puzzle.

Before leaving the subject of my new appointment,
I may mention a curious little circumstance in con-
nection with this Dominions Royal Commission.

The notice of the first meeting informed me that it
was to sit in a room, numbered so-and-so, at the great
public building known as Scotland House. 'Wdien
I arrived there at the appointed time I asked the
porter, who is an old friend of mine, which that room
might be.

' Why, sir,’ he said, ‘ the same in which you have
been sitting for years.’

So there I found myself in that identical chamber,
with the identical noise from the Embankment out-
side, and the identical electric fan creaking away over
the door. But, here came the difference: everybody
in it was changed, down to the messenger boy, and
none of those gathered there even knew a single

230 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

creature with whom I had been associated in that place
for so long a period of time. It was like arising from
the dead into the midst of a new generation. For
a few minutes it made me feel very lonely as I looked
up to find fresh faces in place of the old familiar ones
that now were gone, two of them for ever. Nor was
this sensation lessened when, in an adjoining office,
I saw the unclaimed despatch-box of one of my former
colleagues who is dead.

In the beginning of the present year I paid another
visit to Egypt in the hope of shaking off my bronchitis,
which I did — ^until I got back to England, a country
in which I am rather doubtful whether I shall ever be
able to winter again. On this occasion my daughter
Angela and I examined the mummy of the Pharaoh
Meneptah, which Sir Gaston Maspero kindly caused
to be removed to a private room for our inspection.
It was a strange thing to look upon the tall form and
the withered countenance of the man who is generally
believed to have been the Pharaoh of the Exodus, that
majesty before whom, perhaps, Moses stood, and to
think that that frozen countenance— it is a very im-
pressive countenance still— may have trembled and sunk
in at the announcement of the judgments of the great
God of the Israelites. One thing is clear, however :
he was not drowned ; nor, indeed, does the Bible state
that this happened. Meneptah died in old age from
ossification of the arteries ; there still lies the lime about
the heart of Pharaoh — which it pleased God to harden !

Many question the whole Exodus story because
there is no mention of it in the contemporary Egyptian
records. Personally, however, I believe it to be true
in its main outlines, and that a large body of Semites
did break away from Eg5rpt about this period, although

COAST EROSION AND AFFORESTATION 231

it did not suit the official scribes to make any mention
of the event with its very unpleasant happenings.
One day I hope to write a romance of the time, hence
my particular interest in Meneptah and in his son and
heir, Seti 11 .

On my return to England I set to work to write
a romance in the new Allan Quatermain series. The
first of these books, ‘ Marie,’ which is dedicated to my
old chief, Sir Henry Bulwer, has, I am glad to say,
been much liked by its readers and, up to the present,
proved successful. Of course, however, when I speak
of success, I mean on the moderate scale to which I can
hope to attain.

No doubt, however, by degrees as a writer I shall
be put upon the shelf, for that is the lot of all or nearly
all of us when we grow old. I cannot look forward
to any prosperous period in my old age, which, should
I chance to live so long, it seems to me probable enough
I shall be called upon to pass in a very modest way.
As, however, I have been able to provide well for any
who may come after me, at this I do not grumble in
the least. I have earned a good average income as an
author during many years, and perhaps I ought to
have saved more. But investments are apt to turn
out badly when the investor has no time to attend to
them ; moreover, as I think I said I have discovered,
it is certainly true that man does not ‘ live to himself
alone.’ There are plenty of those who claim to share
in whatever he may earn. The owner of any fixed
property in our part of rural England is, in fact, nothing
but a distributor. In wages, taxes, and subscriptions
he hands out nearly aU that he receives, except, of
course, the worries, the losses, the clamorous and
almost savage demands for money that come by every
post, and the various official forms that he is reqmred

232 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

to fill in. These too often are aU his portion, and
therefore it is that I have determined to sell every
acre of our outlying lands if they wiU reach to a very
moderate reserve figure on the open market.

And now ' I have spoken ! ’ as the Zulus say. I fear
that these volumes are somewhat egotistical in their
contents and tone, but how can that be helped ? An
autobiography which did not treat at length of the
person concerned would be but an apple dumpling
without the apple.

There is much more that I might have said. For
instance, I, who am now preparing to start upon a
great journey to the Antipodes, have found neither the
time nor the courage even to look through my letters
received during the last ten or twelve years. I have
dealt simply with those salient points that occurred
to me and hunted, not always with success, for such
documents as might bear upon them. Thus, a very
amusing and perhaps an interesting chapter might be
composed out of the correspondence which I have
received from writers who are personally unknown to
me. Should I live and find time, strength, and oppor-
tunity, I may add another volume to this record
descriptive of my impressions of the British Empire,
the greater portion of which I am about to visit. But
who knows the future and its gifts ?

So ends the chronicle of Henry Rider Haggard —
a lover of the kindly race of men, a lover of children,
a lover of his friends (and no hater of his enemies),
a lover of flowers, a lover of the land and of all creatures
that dwell thereon, but most of all, perhaps, a lover of
his country, which, with heart and soul and strength,
he has tried to serve to the best of his small powers
and opportunities. May every blessing be on her —

COAST EROSION AND AFFORESTATION 233

every success to her arms by land and sea, and every
splendour on her ancient name, during the troublous
times that are to come ! Yes, and all confusion to
any of her sons who, for selfish ends, would drag her
down to wreck ! Such is his earnest prayer !

Thus then, poor sinner though I am, trustfully as
a wearied child that, at the coming of the night, creeps
to its mother’s knee, do I commit my spirit to the
comfort of those Everlasting Arms that were and are
its support through all the fears of earth and, as I
believe, have nursed it from of old !

One boon, from infancy to age, has been showered
upon me in a strange abundance, pressed down and
running over — ^the uncountable, peculiar treasure of
every degree and form of human love, which love alone,
present or departed, has made my life worth living.

But if it is all to cease and be forgotten at the
borders of the grave, then life is not worth hving.
Such, however, is no faith of mine.

Farewell !

H. Rider Haggard.

Ditchingham :

September 25 , 1912 .

CHAPTER XXIII

A NOTE ON RELIGION

S.S. Arcadia, December i 6 , 1912. (OS Aden.)

It has occurred to me that the views on the matter
of religion of a person of my day with such experiences
as this work records may prove of interest to some of
those who come after me, and possibly, here and there,
of help. So I add them to this book as a footnote
which none need read unless they wish.

First I should state that I am not a theologian.
Theology is a science that has no attraction for me.
In this great question of our future life or death I find
no place for subtleties in which many take so much
delight. Such is the constitution of my mind. The
fine divisions of a creed, the bitterness that rages
between High Church and Low, for instance, awake
in my heart neither sympathy nor echo. What are
vestments or ritual when eternal life or death and
salvation are at stake ? Even the great gulf fixed
between Anglican and Roman Catholic is to me narrow.
I was bred, and doubtless shall to the end remain,
a member of the Church of England. But, on the
other hand, I have a great admiration for many parts
of the Roman precept and practice. Its discipline
seems to me beyond praise ; the support it gives to
the individual struggling and affrighted soul shows deep
understanding of the eternal needs of human nature ;

234

A NOTE ON RELIGION 235

while who can be blind to the abnegation of self
evinced in the practice of cehbacy by its devoted
priesthood, resulting, as it does, in an enormous gain
to its efficiency as a Church ?

Further, within limits that I need not discuss,
personally I think the virtue of Confession which it
inculcates great, since thereby is brought the whole
weight, wisdom, and merit of the Church to the aid of
the particular case. I am aware that Confession is
allowed to Anglicans and even, in a sense, enjoined
upon them. But by how many is the rite employed ?
And why is it not employed ? The question may be
answered by another. Who wishes to make con-
fessions of his failings — to lay bare that wonderful and
sometimes awful thing, the secret soul of man, to
Mrs. Rector or Mrs. Archdeacon, or even to a selection
of the father confessor's brother priests ? It may be
retorted, not without indignation, that such a thing
would not happen. Perhaps. Yet the average man
feels a risk which he will not face. Many of us have
known worthy but much married clergymen whose
conjugal confidences are famous. In consequence,
rightly or wrongly, other confidences are withheld from
them, and with the abolition of a one-doctrined,
properly controlled, responsible and non-amateur celi-
bate priesthood. Confession has gone out of fashion.
This, however, is by the way.

The trouble about the Roman Church is not only
its notorious intolerance and bigotry, of which history
tells, but the fact that some of the doctrines, as I
understand them, are not to be found in the New
Testament, which after aU is the Christian’s only
charter. Since the Scriptures are of no private inter-
pretation what is not written there is, so far as they
are concerned, presumably non-existent. It is this

236 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

truth that keeps so many from the gates of Rome.
Perhaps in some day to come she will modify her
attitude in certain directions, as we may modify ours,
and the two greatest divisions of the Church of Christ
will draw together again. I trust and pray that this
may be so and that thus an united front may be
presented to the evil that is in the world, which lessens
little, if at all, with the passage of the ages.

In the same way that I admire and respect the
Roman Church do I admire and respect a Body which
stands at the other religious pole — I refer to the
Salvation Army. But this Body, splendid as is its
work, makes what I consider the mistake of omitting
the use of the Sacraments which seem to me to be
clearly enjoined by the New Testament. As the
Roman Church elaborates the sum total of the corpus
of our faith, so the Salvation Army deducts from that
sum. But it has been explained to me that the late
General Booth did this of set purpose, because he did
not think that the people with whom he had to deal
understood the Sacraments.

I do but quote these two extremes, however, each
of which I think so admirable in its own fashion, as
evidence of the statement with which I opened these
remarks, to the effect that whatever I may or may
not be, I am no bigot. Now I wiU try to show why
I believe in the simple and unadulterated doctrines of
Christianity as these appear within the four comers
of the New Testament and are preached by the Church
to which I belong.

There are, of course, many varieties of what is
known as Faith. There is, for instance, the unques-
tioning Faith which many profess because it is there,
because they inherited or were taught it in childhood.
Such persons have looked and need to look no further.

A NOTE ON RELIGION

237

Theirs not to reason why, and they are fortunate and
happy in this attitude.

Others have a more difficult experience. When the
intellect awakes it begins to question, and often enough
finds no satisfactory answer. It becomes aware that
all these divine events happened a long while ago, also
that the evidence for them is not of a nature that
forces conviction per se, at any rate at first sight. For
instance, no judge would send an accused person to
gaol on the testimony which, for some purpose beyond
our ken, has been considered sufficiently strong to
enable mankind to accept a very wonderful story and
to build thereon the hope or rather the certainties of
redemption and eternal life beyond the chances and
changes of this mortality. Some are thereby entirely
discouraged and, rejecting what they conclude must
be a fable, set themselves sadly to make the best of
things as they are, awaiting the end with resignation,
with terror, or with the callous indifference of despair,
according to their individual temperaments. Others
start out on wild searches of their own. They examine
the remaining religions, they try spiritualism, they
bring themselves, or so imagine, into some faint and
uncertain touch with the dead, the Unseen and the
Powers that dwell therein, only after all to return
unsatisfied, unsettled, hungry — frightened also at times
— and doubtful of the true source of their vision. For
in all these far seas they can find no sure, anchored
rock on which to stand and defy the storms of Fate.
Those alien religions may suit and even be sufficient
to the salvation of their born votaries, but to these
philosophical inquirers they are not sufficient. More-
over, they find that Christianity embodies whatever
is true and good in every one of them, rejecting only
the false and the evil. To take but one example, all.

238 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

or very nearly all, of the beautiful rules and maxims
of Buddha are to be found in the teaching of our Lord.
But there is this difference between the faiths they
preached. Whereas that of Buddha, as I understand
it, is a religion of Death, holding up cessation of mun-
dane lives and ultimate extinction as the great reward
of virtue, Christianity is a religion of Life, of continued
individual being, full, glorious, sinless and eternal, to
be won by those who choose to accept the revelation of
its Founder. Who then can hesitate between the
two ? Who wishes to be absorbed into the awful peace
of Nothingness ? Why, such, without its precedent
preparation, was the refuge of the Roman who opened
his veins when things went wrong or Caesar frowned I

Thus it comes about that these seekers after spiritual
truth remain drifting to and fro in their httle boats of
hope, that grow at length so frail and old, and mayhap
in the end founder altogether.

Or perhaps they turn in despair and, aware of the
overwhelming importance, of the awfulness of the issue
indeed, to which all other things are as naught, face
the situation afresh, study afresh, think afresh, pray
afresh, perchance for years and years. If so, there is
reaUy only one work with which they need trouble
themselves, the New Testament, and parts of the Old
such as the Psalms. At least that is my experience —
the experience of a plain man in search of truth.

I suppose that for the last fifteen or twenty years,
except very occasionally through accident or a sense
of imworthiness, scarcely a day has gone over my head
on which I have not once (the last thing at night) and
often more than once, read a portion of the Bible. The
result is that now I find it fresher, stronger, more
convincing, more full of hidden meaning than I did
when I began this exercise, ‘ Search the Scriptures ’

A NOTE ON RELIGION 239

was a very great and potent saying, for in them I think
is life.

What, it may be asked, do you find there, beyond
picturesque narrative and the expression of hopes
natural to the hearts of members of a race that in a few
short years must throb itself to silence ? I answer
that in all their main facts they are true. I have been
accustomed to write fiction for a space of nearly a whole
generation, and I know something of the business.
Having this experience at my back I declare earnestly
that, with a single exception, I do not think it possible
that the gospels and the rest can be the work of man’s
imagination. That exception is the Book of Revela-
tion, which might possibly have been conceived by
some noble human mind in a wonderful period of
spiritual exaltation. I hasten to add that I am certain
this was not the case ; that on the contrary it was
divinely inspired, whatever the actual meaning of parts
of it may be. All I say is that, in my view, it alone
of the books of the New Testament might perhaps
be a fruit of human powers of creation.

With the remainder of them it is different. These,
I am sure, are records of things that were said or
happened very much as they are written down. "V^Tio,
for instance, could have invented the account of the
Last Supper in St. John ? A thousand touches, patent
enough to the eye of one who composes romance, show
that this view is true ; the very inconsistencies or
variations in the different accoimts of certain incidents,
due for the most part to the varying temperaments
of the recorders that cause them to dwell upon that
aspect of the matter in hand which appealed to them,
rejecting or slurring over the others, suggest that it is
true. Any person who has been accustomed to hear
evidence knows that such evidence is most suspicious

240 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

when a number of witnesses teU exactly the same story,
especially as to events that happened a while before,
and most credible when that story comes from sundry
mouths with differences of detail.

So, the critic will say, you are prepared to swallow
the miracles at a gulp ? Yes, I am — or most of them.
I do not see how they are to be explained away ;
moreover, I have known so many miracles to occur in
my own time and experience that a few more or less
make no difference to me. To state that miracles,
which after all may be but the partial manifestation
of some secret law veiled from us as yet, have ceased
is, in my opinion, a profound mistake ; they happen
often, especially in the heart of man. Moreover, the
whole circumstances of life are a miracle ; the wireless
instrument that at this moment I hear doing its
wondrous work is a miracle ; we are surrounded by
miracles, unappreciated, unvalued, because so common.
This, though a truism, is one from which we may argue.

I believe, therefore, that these things took place
substantially as they are recorded ; that a God-
endowed Being of supernatural strength did show signs
and wonders before the eyes of His generation, and for
the subsequent instruction of mankind. If this is not
true, or rather, if the greatest of these signs is not true,
then Christianity falls to the ground ; it is a well dug
in sand that will hold no water, and what tens of
millions have believed and believe to be a gateway to
a better and enduring world is but a glorious morning
cloud which melts away and is lost in the vastness of
the ether. Then, as SL Paul says, we are of all men
the most miserable ; then let us eat and drink for
to-morrow we die ; then let us see to it, so far as is
possible, that we bring none here to bear the burden of
the years and know the despairing bitterness of death.

A NOTE ON RELIGION 241

Needless to say, I refer to the Resurrection of Jesus
Christ. If He never rose from the grave, then, so far
as I can see, there is no hope for Christian man, and we
trust in a vain thing. I say, so far as I can see, for
there may exist other roads of salvation with which
we are unacquainted. For my part, I believe, how-
ever, that He did rise, as firmly as I believe that at this
moment of writing I am sitting on the deck of a ship
called the Arcadia, and that what He, bom of woman,
did, we shall do also.

Indeed this may be a convenient place to state my
private opinion (it is no more, though I cannot find that
it conflicts with the doctrines of Christianity ; see,
for instance, the passage in which our Lord refers to
Elijah as having returned to earth in the person of
John the Baptist), to the effect that we, or at any rate
thafsome of us, already have individually gone through
this process of coming into active Being and departing
out of Being more than once — perhaps very often
indeed — though not necessarily in this world with which
we are acquainted. In short, like the Buddhists, I am
strongly inclined to believe that the Personality which
animates each of us is immeasurably ancient, having
been forged in many fires, and that, as its past is
immeasurable, so will its future be. This is in some
ways an uncomfortable faith or instinct ; thus I, for
one, have no wish to live again upon our earth. More-
over, it is utterly insusceptible of proof — ^hke every-
thing else that has to do with the spirit — ^for vague
memories, afi&nities with certain lands and races,
irresistible attractions and repulsions, at times amount-
ing in the former case to intimacies of the soul (among
members of the same sex, for in discussing such matters
it is perhaps better to exclude the other) so strong that
they appear to be already weU established, such as

VOL, II. ^

242 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

have drawn me so close to certain friends, and
notably to one friend recently departed, are none of
them proof. Nor are the revelations of persons who
seem to have access to certain stores of knowledge
denied to most men, for these may be anything or
nothing. Nor is that strong conviction of immemorial
age which haunts the hearts of some of us.

No, there is no proof, and yet reason comes to the
support of these imaginings. Unless we have lived
before, or the grotesque incongruities of life are to be
explained in some way unknown to us, our present
existence, to my mind, resembles nothing so much
as a handful of what is known as ‘ printer’s pie ’ cast
together at hazard and struck off for the reader to
interpret as he will or can. Or perhaps in this case
a better example would be to compare the world to
a great baU-room wherein a Puck-like Death acts as
Master of Ceremonies. Here the highly born, the
gifted and the successful are welcomed with shouts of
praise, while the plain, the poorly dressed, the halt,
are trodden underfoot ; here partners, chosen at
hazard, often enough seem to be dancing to a different
time and step, till they are snatched asunder to meet
no more ; here one by one the revellers of all degrees
are touched upon the shoulder by the Puck-like Death
who calls the tune, and drop down, down into an
impenetrable darkness, while others who knew them
not are called to take their places.

But if we admit that every one of these has lived
before and danced in other rooms, and will live again
and dance in other rooms, then meaning informs the
meaningless. Then those casual meetings and swift
farewells, those loves and hatings, are not of chance ;
then those partners are not chosen at hazard after all.
Then the dancers who in turn must swoon away beneath

A NOTE ON RELIGION 243

that awful, mocldng touch, do not drop into darkness
but into some new well of the water of Life. Then
what we behold is but a few threads, apparently so
tangled, that go to weave the Sphinx’s seamless veil, or
some stupendous tapestry that enwraps the whole
Universe of Creation which, when seen at last, will
picture forth the Truth in all its splendour, and with it
the wondrous story and the meaning of our lives.

Such, put shortly and figuratively, seems to me
one of the strongest arguments for the continuity of
our personal existence through various phases. It
may be, however, that it is no argument at all — that
there is some other explanation (beyond that of blind,
black, brutal chance), perhaps so simple that we cannot
grasp it, which accounts for everything.

One contention, however, I find it hard to accept —
namely, that man appearing here for the first time
through an accident of the flesh is placed and judged
eternally in accordance with his deeds of at most
about thirty waking, conscious years (even if his life
be long), for childhood and the time spent in sleep
must be excluded. To me such a thing is almost in-
credible. Final judgment I can understand after many
lives of growing towards the good or towards the ill —
and, indeed, the faith I follow declares it — ^but not an
eternity of anything decreed on the deeds of ten or
twenty or thirty years passed among the surroundings
in which we happened to be bom, weighted with the
infirmities and inherited tendencies of a flesh and nature
that we did not choose. Over a great period of many
different existences, selected according to the elective
fitness of the ego, matters and opportunities would
equalise themselves, and that ego would follow the path
it selected to its inevitable end. But one life of a maxi-
mum of thirty years full-stopped with doom . . . !

244 the days of my LIFE

All this, however, is a digression from my arguments
to which I now return.

I have said that I believe in the truth of the New
Testament story, and that to my mind everything
hinges upon the fact of the Resurrection, although
I am aware that many who call themselves Christians,
and expect, apparently, to receive whatever benefits
Christianity can bring, give no credence to this or any
other miracle. Surely these might as well expect to
inherit salvation by virtue of a study of the doctrines
of Confucius. I hope that they will inherit it aU the
same, since God, who knows what is in man and the
clay whereof we are fashioned, is merciful, and there
may be, and probably are, many roads to the gate of
Life ; but in this case it can scarcely be reached by the
faint and wandering path of a materialised and
eviscerated Christianity. Christianity as an effective
creed depends, and always must depend, upon the
Resurrection of its Founder while He dwelt on earth.
Or so I hold.

How, then, is this necessary faith to be attained by
those who doubt ? Perhaps in many ways, though
I only know of one — ^namely, by prayer. It is, at any
rate in its higher forms, a gift accorded in answer to
prayer ; it is an inspiration of the Spirit of our Maker
which flows down the connecting links of prayer. By
prayer, too, I do not mean a few hurried or formal
mumblings in the morning or at bedtime : I mean the
continual, almost the hourly, conversation of the
creature with his God. I mean the habitual uplifting
of the heart to heaven, the constant cry of fallen
nature in sorrow, in joy, in sin, in every circumstance
of hfe, to the Highest of aU natures, who remembers
of what metal it is made because in the beginning (ah !
what beginning ?) it was from Him and is stiU His own.

A NOTE ON RELIGION 245

Feeble, unworthy though it be, such prayer offered on
our own behalf or on that of others, I am sure is heard,
is answered across the unutterable spaces — or so it has
often seemed to me — ^if put up in faith. Sometimes
even, for a little while it causes us to understand what
is meant by the peace of God that passes understanding.
Further, it is as necessary to the sin-stained soul as is
food to the frail body. For indeed even those among
us, with whom such as I cannot presume to rank
ourselves, are full of faults and must appear to the
Perfect Eye as though stricken with a moral leprosy.
Our only hope, knowing and remembering these faults,
however oft and bitterly repented of, is to say like
the man in the temple, ‘ Lord, I am a miserable
sinner ' ; to seek for the help we cannot give to our-
selves, to crave that we too may be sprinkled with the
atoning Blood. Why this should be necessary I cannot
say — ^for who can comprehend these wonders ? — any
more than I can understand the origin and meanings
of sin, which often enough seems to consist merely in
giving obedience to the imperious demands of that
body with which we have been clothed. The gratifica-
tion of these impulses generally becomes sin, because
Nature has no laws except her own, and her ancient
rule is not that revealed by Christ in the latter days.

So it is with almost everything : even true affection
or any other virtue exaggerated can turn to vice. It
would seem as though man’s trials here were purposely
made as hard as may be; so hard that at times we
may perhaps be forgiven if we wonder whether this
world, at any rate for some, is not in truth one of the
chambers of the house of hell, or at least of that
purgatory preached — so far as I know without warrant
— ^as a doctrine of the Roman faith. By prayer, then,
We can be purged and helped, prayer for ourselves.

246 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

prayer for others, for the living, yes, and for the dead ;
for who will dare to say that even the dead are beyond
the reach of benefit from our feeble crying in the night
to the Ruler of that night ? Prayer, I repeat, is heard ;
prayer, if it be directed to lawful ends, is answered
sometimes when it seems to be made most in vain. If
only we had faith enough no right thing would be
refused to us. Who knows the harvest that we sow
by means of earnest, faithful prayer, and, though its
seed lie buried for a season, shall one day reap ? But
most of all, I think, should we pray for knowledge how
to pray !

Now the road to this goal of faith, which must be
found and kept open by prayer, still remains full of
obstacles and apt to vanish quite away, leaving the
weary wanderer in a desert where no water is. Light
fails, dark grows the sky, again and yet again cold winds
of doubt freeze him to the marrow, sins overtake and
conquer him, voices mock him from the gloom. They
bid him look back to the warm world he left upon his
foolish quest to find a star whither no path leads that
mortal can follow. They point to the bones of those
who have fallen by the way. They whisper that his
error lies in not taking what he may have while there
is stiU time, since soon he must go empty to the sleep
which knows no waking. Poor fare perhaps, they say,
yet better than feeding upon wind and bedewing the
altar of a heedless or non-existent God with repentant
tears because of half-imaginary sins begotten by a
nature the sinner did not shape.

What traveller of the sort is there who has not been
thrown back upon his thorny journey by such thoughts
as these ? Or perhaps some hideous and cruel loss has
caused him to doubt whether, after aU, any Power does
exist that knows the name of pity or can thrill with the

A NOTE ON RELIGION 247

glow of love. Or the shock may take other forms.
He may find that those whom he thought to be inspired
from on high with goodness are merely stupid ; that
they avoid conspicuous and open error because their
slow natures are shut to temptations of the larger sort,
though they breed a growth of petty mischiefs not
textually named among the Ten Commandments and
therefore, say they, of no account. Or that some friend
whom he respects and has leant on, perhaps a clergy-
man of standing, after all believes in little, and though
he practises its forms has reduced Christianity to the
level of high and pure philosophy enunciated by an
unfortunate, self-denying young Jew of genius with
whom the established Church of the period very well
knew how to deal. Or it may be a brilliant but
materialistic book that he chances on, wherein he finds
all the points upon which he has been accustomed to
rely very cleverly attacked. Or some great doctor
may disturb him by showing forth the origin of all such
aspirations as those of faith written in the human nerves
and brain. Or, to take only one more example, he may
after all find it impossible to reconcile the fact of the
existence of a good and merciful God with the state of
affairs he sees existing in the world. A common and
effective trap, this, for generous and hasty minds.

I think that I have fallen over all these stumbling-
blocks, and others, in the course of my life, which has
set me wondering why they should be so many. At
length, after long pondering, I have answered the
(question to my own satisfaction, though probably
enough the reply which sufbces me wiU make some
readers smile. It is simple; five words cover it.

‘ The Devil put them there.'

Yes, I have come back to a belief in the old scrip-
tural Satan, now so generally discarded, though be it

248 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

remembered that our Lord was perfectly definite on
the point of his existence — ^so definite, indeed, that it is
scarcely logical to believe in the one without beliewng
in the other. Fear not those who kill the body and
then have done all that they can do, but fear him who
after death has power to cast into Gehenna, He says,
and many like things that cannot be misread.

Whoso considers the world and the horrible things
that happen here, things to wring tears from the eyes,
yes, and blood from every honest heart that can under-
stand, must feel that for some reason which is hidden
from us it exists under a dual government — that of the
divine Power of Good, which we know as God, and that
of the infernal Power of 111, which we call Evil and
perso nif y as the Devil or Satan. I will take one
instance from a multitude : it will serve as a type of
what I mean — the presence amongst us of the hideous
traffic in souls and bodies, worse by far than that of
the man-seUers of all ages, known as the White Slave
trade, which, I may add, is another stumbling-block
to faith for us who cannot see an inch before our feet
and guess not the end thereof. It is obvious — ^I say it
with all reverence — ^that the Holy One, and Christ who
is a part of Him, would not permit such an ineffable
horror to exist if it could be ended with a blow. There-
fore reason, which after all is, I presume, some guide
and index to the causes and comparative values of
such phenomena as we can apprehend, teaches us that
it and aU abominations of the sort must have their
spring in the workings of a rival Strength whose dehght
is in misery, the breath of whose nostrils is human
and perhaps superhuman shame and ruin, whose shield
is fraud, whose wine is tears, whose armour is the flesh
and its fierce lusts, and whose sword is death.

For a while to this fiend are given a throne upon

A NOTE ON RELIGION 249

the world and dominion over the hearts of men, and
strait, strait is the gate whereby we can escape from
his defended kingdom. He it is who — ^knowing the
priceless worth of each human soul, that, if it can win
redemption from his befouling, murderous hand, may,
we are told, grow to be a judge of angels and as great
or greater than are those Flames of Fire, the Ministers
of God our Father — busies himself by night and day,
from childhood to the grave, in setting snares in the
narrow path to catch the feet of men and drag them
dowm to doom.

Such at least is an article of my creed. Nor, now
that I have reached to it, can I find therein any point of
difference between it and what the Saviour taught.
There was a time, indeed, when I did not credit the
existence of an embodied evil. To-day I have learned
otherwise. For in truth all these avenues of experi-
ence, search and thought, after many circuitous
joumeyings and expeditions into nothingness, have
just led me back to the eternal verities that I was
taught at my mother’s knee, at some of which, such as
the efficacy of prayer (though through it all, from
habit or from hope, I never ceased to pray) and the
actual existence of this our Arch-Enemy, to my shame
be it said, I was wont to shrug my shoulders, if not to
scoff. Yes, these wings of prayer which once I thought
as fanciful as those of angels in the cottage pictures,
have borne me to a frail pinnacle of the temple of my
trembling soul, whence at times, very faint and far
away, across the guU of our mortality, I seem to catch
some glimpse of the Holy Mount and of the veiled
and throbbing Glory that broods thereon. A vain
fancy of the striving heart, the reader will perhaps
declare, and it may be so, though I pray that it is not.

There would seem also to be some external evidence

250 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

which goes to support the doctrine of the continuance
of the personality beyond the changes of death.
Spiritualism I do not include, since although many
people, some of them of great intellect and high
character, believe in it, and I know well that whatever
it may be it is not all fraud, however much it may be
mixed with fraud, I am by no means satisfied as to the
real origin of its phenomena. Without expressing any
definite opinion, at times I incline to the view that it
also is but a device of the Devil, by specious apparitions
and the exhibition of an uncanny knowledge which
may be one of his attributes, to lead heart-sick mortals
into regions they were not meant to travel and there
infect them with the microbe of some alien, unknown
sin.

On one point, however, I am clear. WTiether or
no it is lawful for trained and scientific minds to enter
on these dangerous investigations in the interests of
a search for some truth which it may be intended, in
the fulness of time shall be revealed for the guidance
and benefit of the world, the majority of men and
women, especially if they be young, will do well to leave
them quite alone. The risks are too many, and the
fruits of such research, however golden they may seem,
are apt to be unsatisfying, if not deadly. The parable
of Eve and the forbidden apple of the 'Tree of Know-
ledge, from the eating of which came death and sorrow,
stiU has applications in these latter days. Once I tried
to point this moral in a tale I wrote which is named
' Stella Fregelius.’

Nor can we rely too much upon the revelations of
such seers as Swedenborg, for these may be and doubt-
less often are self-deceived or the victims of hallucina-
tion. In short, of all such matters and dogmas, if
so they may be called, including that of theosophy

A NOTE ON RELIGION 251

with its interesting and gigantic dreams reported to
emanate from the teaching of ' Masters ’ whose address
it seems impossible to discover, it may be said that,
like that of reincarnation, they are superfluous. The
Christian can afford to wait to learn the truth of them —
or perhaps their fallacy.

W^e tread on firmer ground when we consider that
as far back as history shows her light, and beyond it
as the graves of primitive peoples prove, the almost
universal instinct of mankind was to believe that
death is but a gate of other forms of continued and
individual Life. I know of no instinct which haunts
breathing creatures that is uselessly given without
purpose, and does not serve some necessary or pro-
tective object or reflect some existent truth. Why,
then, among them all should this rooted convictioh
that physical decease is not the end of man be but a
vain thing fondly imagined ? Such a conclusion seems
inconsistent, even unnatural and absurd. But if our
faith is strong enough to enable us to accept Christ’s
teaching, again what need is there for us to seek support
in instincts which it is possible we do not understand
aright ?

To one fact, corroborative in its nature, I think,
however, weight should be given, that of the father-
hood of God, displayed towards those of His children
who seek, or who in His foresight He knows, in some
other day or place, will seek the comfort and protection
of His love. How any reflecting man who has led
a full and adventurous life can doubt the present, living
power of that fatherhood passes my understanding !
Certainly I cannot. When we rode the wild horses of
our youthful sins, the red blood coursing through our
veins like wine, who was it that seized the reins and
again and yet again delivered us from the last disaster ?

252 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

Who is it that has so often protected us from the results
of our own self-willed folly and even turned it to our
advantage ? Who that by His gift of a higher hope
has stilled the raging agony of our griefs ? Who that
by the unexpected answers springing at us from the
Bible’s written page or with some word spoken,
apparently at hazard, by one of His servants upon
earth, has removed our doubts, enlightened our dark-
ness and strengthened our wavering soul ? Who that
has shown us a way of escape from sharp temptation ?
Or, amongst a thousand other examples, who that has
borne with our presumptuous profanities and ingrati-
tude and at last in His own good hour has set our
erring feet upon the paths of peace ? Or, to take one
more example, who was it that by a dream and a vision
ol the night taught me that His humbler creatures are
my kin and not called to life to be slaughtered for my
pleasure, even though some of them must die to serve
my necessities ? Yet again, who twice has snatched
me by the hair from the murderer’s spears and bullets,
twice from death in the deep, and from a score of other
perils, perchance that I might live on to bear this
witness, unworthy though it be ?

I have spoken of this fatherhood as a fact corrobora-
tive in its nature of the truth of the arguments which
I have so feebly attempted to advance with reference
to the immortality of our souls. For this reason.
Even among the lowest of us fatherhood implies love.
The fathers are few who desire that even their erring
and unthankful children should die and vanish from
their sight for ever, and much less that these should
live on in suffering for all uncounted time. Can we
then for one instant imagine that the Architect and
Author of the universe, the Supreme, the Absolute, He
who was and is and shall be, He whose Holy Name is

A NOTE ON RELIGION 253

Love, the Begetter of Spirits and of men, desires that
His children should be tormented, or die and not
endure, redeemed and purified, to adore and serve
Him ? Not so I Not for this does He count the
sparrows that fall and number the very hairs upon our
heads. In His cup is the wine of life — if we will but
drink — not the henbane of death eternal. He is the
God of the living, not of the dead. Did not the
Saviour say it that we might know and believe ?

And if your reasonings are sound, if what you say
is true, the reader may ask, if the righteous are
redeemed and live to look upon the Presence to all
infinities, still what hope is there for you who are not
righteous, who are but a common flesh-stained sinner ?
As I shall not then be here to answer I wiU strive to
answ'er now, praying for grace that I may do so arighi.
With utter humihty, in true unfeigned abasement of
heart and spirit I will answer. Was there not one
Mary Magdalene out of whom Christ cast seven devils ?
Was there not a woman taken in adultery whom He
refused to judge ? Did He not declare that there is
joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth ? Did
He not bid those that were heavy-laden to come to
Him and taste of rest ? Therefore it is that millions
such as I, men who in the course of life have erred
deeply in some things and fallen short in many, may
still dare to hope. Also who are the righteous ? Even
St. Paul speaks of the war within him. Is it not
written that there are no righteous on this side of the
grave — ^none nearly perfect ? They would not be
human if they were. AU, even deans and bishops, or
some of them, have need of grace. Surely it is the
attitude and strivings of the caged spirit that will be
considered, not the shortcomings of the gaoler body,
the desire not the deeds, for if it prove otherwise who

254 the days of my LIFE

can escape when the heart is weighed in the balance ?
To my mind the great sin is not to seek forgiveness for
sins — ^not to try to avoid them in the future. All
stumble into the mire, but of those who elect to
wallow there and of those who deliberately refuse
the saving hand that is stretched out to them, what
can be said ? Well, perhaps they may be given
other opportunities elsewhere. As a believer in the
infinite mercy of God I dare to trust that this wiU
be so.

I desire to urge, however, upon any who care to
listen these three things which I myself have learned in
the course of years. First, the enormous importance
of all this matter. Secondly, the folly of sin. Thirdly,
since it needs must be that offences wiU come, the
Tsrgent need of repentance before in some other life or
lives we are called upon to reap the harvest of that
unrepented folly.

What is life as we know it, even if that life be not
a single volume but a series of chapters which will
ultimately be bound into a completed book ? A few
breaths melting into the immensity of this bitter air,
a few dewdrops sparkling on a single thorn in the great
dim forest — ^no more. And what is Eternity ? Ah !
I cannot answer. Yet I do beheve that our fate in the
second depends not so much upon our doings perhaps,
as on our struggles in the first. Surely, then, it behoves
us to be up and stirring while there is still time. For
if we neglect the opportunity who knows, as age sweeps
on to endless age, with what agonies of grief we may
repent that which can no more be remedied, because
as we have chosen so we must go ; as the tree falls so
must it lie. Even in this world the might-have-been
is a thing terrible to contemplate ; what, then, may
it be in a world that will neither suffer us to die nor

A NOTE ON RELIGION 255

die itself ? To be cast out to the murk while others
serve in honour within the glowing gates ; to be told
to chew the cud of our unbelief or to eat of the husks
and drink of the sour wine of our desires till we loathe
the taste and stench of them, while others — ^among
them, perchance, our most adored — ^feed on the manna
of the blest ; to endure the reproaches and the heaped-
up hate of the companions of our woe ; to be separated
from those we loved and who loved us, those who have
chosen the better part — oh ! surely we need fly to no
obscene phantasies of mediaeval torture to paint the
picture of a blacker hell. Even if mercy finds us at
the last, as for my part I think it must and will, what
sufferings must we first endure ! — ^for of this we may
be certain, that if in such conditions we should cease
to suffer, then we shall be lost and draw near to the
Second Death whence we can scarcely hope to rise
again. For the soul, as for the body, pain is a healthy
symptom. When it passes we are apt to mortify and —
cease.

Now, like a Scotch preacher, I go to my second
head : the folly of sin whereof even here the heritage
is of sackcloth and of ashes. Never was there a truer
saying than that the Devil is the worst of paymasters.
If we go against the rules of the game as they are laid
down for us by the creed we serve in that part of the
world in which we have been born, even when those
rules seem not natural to us, we err, and what is more
we injure others, which is surely the essence of sin.
For, as I have said, the laws of Nature differ from the
laws of God as these are revealed to us {and we must
follow the higher Light) — a fact from which I am some-
times tempted to argue that Nature, ' red in tooth and
claw,’ is not begotten of God alone. Surely the
powers called Satan and Death have had a hand in

256 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

its makings. Thus Nature says to Everyman who is
a man :

‘ See where She stands with longing arms and lips
that murmur love. Hark to what She says who would
be the mother of your child : “ Seek ! Seek for heaven
hid in these dark eyes of mine and find aU Earth’s desire.
Drink ! Drink of the Mysteries from the cup of this
rich heart of mine and learn what Life can be. Sleep !
Sleep and dream of naught but me on this kind breast
of mine which shall breathe for you alone until the
Night forgets her stars.” ’

‘ Touch not, taste not, handle not,’ answers the cold
stern Law. ' Pass on, she is not thine.’

Often enough it is Nature that prevails and, having
eaten of the apple that She, our Mother, gives us, we
desire no other fruit. But always the end is the same :
its sweetness turns to gravel in our mouth. Shame
comes, sorrow comes ; come death and separations.
And, greater than all of these, remorse rises in the
after years and stands over us at night, since, when
our eyes are no longer clouded with the mists of passion,
we see and bewail our wickedness.

For sin has this quality. Like some bare, black
peak in a plain of flowers it dominates all our landscape.
However far we wander never can we escape the sight
of it. Our virtues, such as they may be, are dwarfed
and lost in the dark shadows thrown up by our tower-
ing crime. True and honest love of wife and child,
unceasing thought for others, vicarious sufferings on
behalf of others, often sharp enough to sadden, what-
ever kind deeds and charities may lie within our power,
the utter and heartfelt forgiveness of all who have
wronged us, the struggles that we made as the snare
closed round us, the memories of those keen tempta-
tions from which we have escaped — it will be noted

A NOTE ON RELIGION 257

that these are ever of a sort to appeal to whatever sin
doth so easily beset us — ^high friendships well deserved,
fair fame weU won, duty well done, such are the
flowers upon the plain we travel. Yet we forget them,
we do not even note them, because of that black mount
of evil which our stained hands piled and the icy gloom
it throws. Never, never can we be free of it till prayer
has brought unfeigned repentance, and these, hand in
hand, have led us on to Faith, and Faith, opening her
door, has shown us the far-off glory of Forgiveness,
which glory, growing ever brighter, falls at length upon
our heads in blessing and, when we turn our dazzled
eyes to seek the familiar mount of shame — ^lo ! it is
gone.

The third head, that of the necessity of repent-
ance, needs no elaboration. Of it I have already said
enough. If we have forgotten our Creator in the days
of our youth — or even of our age — ^let us at least obey
the cry of His Messengers, and repent, repent while
there is yet time. ‘ The Promises are sure if only we
will believe ’ were the last words of my friend, the aged
WiUiam Booth — ^very true words. And of these
promises perhaps the greatest and the happiest for
man is that of fuU and free forgiveness to those who
kneel and from the heart will say, ‘ Father, I have
sinned. Father, forgive ! '

But to do this we must have Faith, When Faith
fails there is nought but blackness in which we wander
helplessly and in vain. Even our Lord (as I venture
to think, and I know one very learned bishop who
agrees with me) as a man perhaps walked the world
more by Faith than by knowledge. It may be that
this was the heaviest of His temptations — the tempta-
tion to admit some creeping doubt of His own mission
and Divinity. If so we can weU understand the full

258 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

magnificence of His sacrifice and the glory of His
triumph. Once, indeed, in the moment of agony and
mortal weakness that Doubt seems to have conquered
Him : I mean in the cry upon the Cross, ‘ My God !
My God ! Why hast Thou forsaken Me ? '

If this be so let us take comfort, since where He
seems to have failed, how can we. His poor servants,
always expect to succeed ? ‘ Lord, I believe, help

Thou my unbelief ! ’ Such should be our daily peti-
tion, which will not go unheeded.

The shores of India draw near, and I have finished
the sermon which something has prompted me to write,
whereof I wiU say that, however much it may be
mocked at, I hope at least it can do no harm in the
after years. It is the only one I ever composed or
shall compose, and brief, bare as it is, it has taken me
half a lifetime to think out its underlying principles.
(How do clergymen succeed in evolving one or two on
every Sunday of their active lives, I wonder !)

'^at is the sum of it all ? This. That my spiritual
experience leads me to take a higher view of man than
that which declares him to be but a physical accident.
That, through aU the winds and weeping of this rough
world, I hear the whisper of the still, small voice of
God directing us from on high. That, by the gift of
His Christ (and mayhap in many another way). He
has provided a means of Redemption for every soul
that breathes in flesh. That, however often they may
fail or stumble. He wiU love and save those who try
to love and obey Him as they understand Him, That
those who reject Him must themselves run a risk of
rejection and of darkness, since, if we choose Death,
Death wiU be given to us. Whatever good thing we
desire we may have, but to have we must desire.
That He will forgive all, whatever be their sins, who

A NOTE ON RELIGION 259

strive to believe and yearn to be forgiven. That He,
or His Messengers, will comfort us in our dark, ulti-
mate hour of mortal agony (may it prove short and
sudden !) and awful death sleep, and be with us in the
light of the last Awakening. That He will lead us to
our lost ones, who are dearer to us than life, in the
home He has prepared for us and those who wish to
dwell there in our company and, from Eternity to
Eternity, in some place where sin and Satan do not
come, will wipe aU tears from off our faces. That in
due season He will gather to us those other dear ones
whom we have loved upon the earth and who do not
forget us although we have been borne away. That,
if it pleases Him to touch us with His Fire on the lips
and give us back our whitened spirits, fiUed with the
fulness of individual life, at His unending tasks and
service in other Worlds or Heavens we shall grow ever
brighter and more glorious until, spheres and aeons
hence, after this earth where we have no abiding city
has become to us but as a troubled dream, though we
be still very far away, at length we approach to the
Divinity of Christ’s own perfect nature. That all Love
is immortal. It is God's light permeating the universe,
and therefore incapable of diminution or decay. That
Christianity is true, although I do not understand and
have no right as yet to expect to understand the origin
of its mysteries or the reason of the necessity for its
great Sacrifice. Its fruits upon earth alone sufi&ce to
show that it is true, since by the fruit it bears must
every tree be judged. That the heart of Faith is Christ,
and that to His Cross I cling.

Such are the conclusions — old conclusions, but none
the worse for that, since each soul must find them
for itself — ^reached during the hfetime of a storm-
driven, wajrward man with too much heart, perhaps, for

26 o the days of my LIFE

happiness here below ; who yet, he trusts, is not alto-
gether bad. For if he be bad why, from his mother
on, should so many of his companions in this winter
pilgrimage have been moved to love him well — as he
prays that, notwithstanding all his errors, God does
also and wiU do for aye ! Amen.

APPENDIX

[The following speech was delivered to the Canadian Club, in the
Russell House, Ottawa, in March 1905, when Sir Rider Haggard (at
that time Mr. H. Rider Haggard) was in Canada as Commissioner
appointed by the Colonial Office. His instructions were to visit
and report on the Labour Colonies established in the U.S.A. by the
Salvation Army. After inspecting them he was to proceed to
Ottawa and discuss the subject with Earl Grey, then Governor-
General of Canada.

Sir Rider wished this speech to be inserted as an appendix k>
' The Days of My Life,' as it gives the essence of his views on the
subject of the settlement of the surplus town population of Great
Britain on the unoccupied land of the Empire, a subject to which
he devoted so much time and energy.

Commander Booth Tucker, of the Salvation Army, was with
Sir Rider on this occasion, and also spoke. There was a record
attendance of members of the Canadian Club, Mr. W. L. Mackenz^'e
King (Prime Minister of the Dominion in June 1936) being in the
Chair. — E d.]

I will begin by making a confession. The other day
I had the honour of addressing the branch of your
society in Toronto, and there, for one solid half-hour,
did I inflict myself upon them, I began to wonder how
much they would stand. Well, I sat down and thought
they must bless me for doing so. The next day I saw
some of the newspapers, including one which stated that
your humble servant had made what they were pleased
to caU a very interesting but exceedingly brief address.
I thought to myself : If this is called brief in Toronto,
I wonder what is long. I took a few opinions on the
point, I asked why they called a speech of that length

261

262 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

a brief one. My friend’s answer was that it had to do
with your parliamentary institutions. He told me that
it was quite common in your House of Commons and
in the provincial Houses of Commons throughout the
country, for speeches to run from two to three hours,
and therefore that is the standard and model of time
by which addresses are judged.

Now, gentlemen, I say to you at once that, high as
might be that honour and greatly as I should desire it
in any other circumstances, I feel that I should never
be competent to be a member of a House of Commons
of which this is true. Gentlemen, your president has
made some very land allusions to me and to my
rather — ^what shall I call it ? — ^varied career. He has
spoken, for instance, of Africa. Well, gentlemen, it is
true I began my life as a public servant in Africa, and
many wonderful things I saw there.

I was in at the beginning, so to speak, of all the
history we are living through to-day. I was with
Sir Theophilus Shepstone when we annexed the Trans-
vaal ; as your president says, I had the honour of
hoisting the flag of England over it. Gentlemen, I
lived, too, to see the flag pulled down and buried. And
I teU you this — and you, as colonists as I was, will
sympathise with me — it was the bitterest hour of my
life. Never can any of you in this room realise the
scene I witnessed upon the market-square of Newcastle
when the news of the surrender after Majuba reached
us. It was a strange scene, it was an awful scene.
There was a mob of about 5,000 men, many of them
loyal Boers, many Englishmen, soldiers even, who had
broken from the ranks — and they marched up and down
raving, yet weeping like children — and swearing that
whatever they were they were no longer Englishmen.

That is what I went through in those days ; and

APPENDIX 263

I only mention it to teU you how I came to leave South
Africa. For I agreed that it was no longer a place for
an Englishman. Still, time goes on, the wheels swing
full circle, things change. I remember that after that
I wrote a book. It was a history. And in that book
I went so far as to say — I remember it well, and there
it stands in black and white to be read — that unless
some change occurred, unless more wisdom, more
patriotism and a different system altogether prevailed
in African affairs, the result would be a war which would
tax the entire resources of the British Empire. Gentle-
men, have we not had the war ? And at that time
what did they say ? They laughed at me, an unknown
young man. And, years later, when the war was on,
they dug up the book and printed these paragraphs
and said, ‘ Dear me, what a remarkable prophecy ^ ’
Three men were right : Sir Bartle Frere was right, and
they disgraced him ; my old chief, Sir Theophilus
Shepstone, was right, and they disgraced him ; and even
I, humble as I was, was right, and they mocked at me.
We know the end.

Thus my residential and official connection with
South Africa came to an end — I would not stop there
any longer. I came home and went to the bar, where
I had fair prospects. And then a sad thing happened
to me — I wrote a successful book.

I do not know whether to be sorry or glad that I
wrote it. Other things might not have happened ;
and, after ah, as Job the Patriarch says : ' Man

knoweth not his own way.’ You go as destiny drives
you. So it was, gentlemen, I took to fiction. Having
begun, I had to go on. And, after all, there is some-
thing to be said for it. After all, it is not a bad thing
to have given pleasure and amusement to many who
are weary or sick, and, perhaps, some instruction also.

264 the days of my LIFE

You might do worse than write a good novel. Not that
I for a moment wish to state that all of mine are good.

Of course, the time comes to every writer, I suppose,
when he has an inspiration and does something which
he knows to be better than he ever did before. Perhaps
he sees a little higher up into heaven, perhaps he sees
a little lower down into — the other depths ; and he
creates something and knows that that thing which he
has created will live, and that it will even go glittering
down the generations. He knows, perhaps, that he has
cut his name fairly deep upon the iron leaves of the
Book of Time, which are so hard to mark. Perhaps he
knows that, and for a little while he is content. Not
for long — ^no artist, I think, is ever contented for long
with what he has done. But he thinks : ‘ At least, I
h»,ve done something.’

Then, perhaps, he begins to understand — ^it comes
into his mind — ^that that was not his real inspiration.
Not in these gauds of the imagination, these sparkling
things, these plays of fancy or of eloquence or wit, was
the real inspiration to be found. He turns and wonders
where it is. And he turns, let us say, and looks at the
dull masses of misery that pervade the globe, he looks
and wonders, and he thinks : Is there nothing that I,
humble as I am, can do to help to alleviate that misery,
to lift up those who are fallen, to lift them up for their
own good and for the good of the world ? And then,
gentlemen, he knows that that, not the gaudy, exciting
work is the real inspiration of his life.

And, perhaps, he turns and tries to match his own
single strength against the prejudices of generations,
and tries to get men to think as he does, tries to show
them where the evil lies and where, too, lies the remedy.
Gentlemen, I have spoken, as it were, in allegory. And
yet these things have some application, certainly in my

APPENDIX 265

humble case they have some application. Years ago,
I saw what I described to you ; I saw the evils
with which, since then, I have attempted to cope.
I recognised that it was my duty to cope with them
if I could.

It is a hard task, gentlemen. It is a hard thing,
in the first place, to live down the reputation of
being a writer of fiction— to surmount the enormous
barrier of prejudice that lies across one’s path. And
it is not for years, perhaps, that people will begin to
listen and will begin to understand that to most men’s
minds there are two sides. Still, humbly, imperfectly,
I did attempt it. I have not done much. Yet I have
done something. They listen to me now a bit. If they
had not listened to me I should not be here in my
present position to-day as a Commissioner from the
Government of Great Britain.

Well, what is it ; what is this problem that moved
me ? I will tell you in a few words. I perceived and
realised the enormous change that is coming over the
Western world ; how those, who, for countless genera-
tions, dwelt upon the land, are deserting the land and
crowding into the cities. I studied the reasons for this.
For two years I studied them, going through England,
village by village, county by county, town by town.
And I found out what they were. In England the
chief cause was lack of prospect on the land. We are
cramped in England with the remains of a feudal
system which works nothing but ill ; and under that
system it is so that no man on the land seems to have a
chance to rise. The labourer on the land, say at two-
and-twenty, is earning as high a wage as he can ever
hope to earn.

I ask you, gentlemen, how should any of us like to
know that at two-and-twenty we were doing the best

266 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

we could hope to do in life ? That is the lot of the
labourer on the land. All that he has to look forward
to at the end of his long career of forty or fifty years of
toil is probably a place in the workhouse. Is that an
attractive prospect ? Then, no doubt, the spread of
education, the facilities of travel, and other things of
that kind conduce to the immigration into the cities,
and this movement goes on with ever-increasing
rapidity.

At the present moment in England, I believe we
have but one-seventh of our population living on the
land. In the United States, if the figures given me are
correct, matters are very little better. And so it is in
other countries — everywhere the land dwellers heap
themselves into the cities. And what happens to them
when th^y get there ? How many succeed ? Not one
in five, I say. The rest of them, for the most part, get
nothing. If sickness strikes a man, when he arises
from his bed his place is gone. His children grow ill
through crowding together in narrow courts and unsani-
tary rooms, and become decimated by disease. Bad
times come and the workmen are dismissed by the
thousand from their employ. Grey hairs, at any rate,
come at last, and with grey hairs the notice to quit ;
and so they go down, and they go under and become
part of that mass which is known as the submerged
tenth — ^though I imagine there is a good deal more than
a tenth. And there they are — ^miseries to themselves,
useless to their country, and a burden upon the town
that has to support them.

Gentlemen, if you think I exaggerate, ask Com-
mander Booth Tucker, and he will tell you. He wiU
teU you, he who knows, as one of the heads of the great
organisation that is to day deahng with this class of
people. He will tell you how many children they have

APPENDIX 267

to feed in the morning in the big cities in order that they
may go to school, how many dock labourers they have
to feed, and so on. He can teU you tales you wiU
scarcely believe of the suffering — the horrible suffering,
the inconceivable misery of these great cities which the
foolish peoples of the earth rush into to dwell there.

Now, that is what is going on in the great city. Let
us look at the other side of the question. Let us go to
places like Fort Amity, where I saw the Colony of
the Salvation Army. As your president told you, I am
not at liberty to forestall my report in any way ; but
I can say this — that there I went to the schools, as I
did in other places, and saw the children. The parents
of these Fort Amity children were taken from a great
city, the city of Chicago, where mostly they were work-
ing as day labourers. They came with nothing ; in
fact, it was necessary to pay the fares of most of them.
They had no prospects, nothing earned, nothing to hope
for. If we could get at the facts, no doubt we should
find they lived in one or two rooms, and not too well.
I went and looked at these children. My daughter
photographed them in the schools at Fort Amity.
Never did you see a healthier, happier, more robust,
more promising set of children in your life. And I
wondered how these children would have looked had
not the Salvation Army had the idea of starting this
Colony and had they been left to wander about in the
streets of Chicago. And I wondered also, gentlemen,
how many of these faces — these happy, contented faces
— ^would have been wanting, but for the change made
in the condition of these children.

But you may be political economists, some of you,
and we all know that political economy is a hard doc-
trine. And you may say : Well, these people went to
the cities of their own accord ; let them expiate their

268 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

fault in the city ; let them welter and let them perish
there, dead beats, and the world is well rid of them.
Well, I am going to submit, if you will allow me, another
side of the argument for your consideration. If you
do not want to do anything on the ground of humani-
tarianism to help the people, I submit to you, gentle-
men, and I submit to everyone, that there is another
groimd on which the thing should be done ; and that
is the ground of the welfare of the nation.

I will start out with an axiom. If the Western
nations allow this sort of thing to go on, aUow their
population to crowd into the cities, then, I say, the
career of the Western nations is going to be short. The
city folk, those who remain, will never hold their own
in the world — ^not only because of the weakened
pfeysique and changed character, but because of
another and more final reason. Gentlemen, children
are not bred in the cities. There will come a time when
the children bred there are too few — ^it is coming now.
And if the children are not bred, if there is not the
supply of healthy children to carry on the nation, how
can the nation stand ? With the people on the land it
is different. Self-interest comes into play.

A large family is a valuable asset to the small-
holder ; in the city it is nothing but a drawback. Let
any one of you gentlemen think of himself with a home
consisting of a single room in a tenement in New York
or a back slum in London, and with six or eight children;
and then think of the contrast with those six children
upon the land and able to assist in your business of
caring for the cattle or carr3dng on many of the other
operations of the farm. We must look at facts. With
dwellers on the land self-interest comes in ; on the land
alone will the supply of children be available that is
necessary to carrying on our white races. And if they

APPENDIX 269

are not carried on in sufficient numbers what of it ? Of
course, you have all heard of what they call the yellow
peril, and many people have laughed at it as a bogey.
Is it a bogey ? Does Russia, for instance, consider
that Japan is a mere nightmare ? I think not ; I think
Russia has very definite and distinct ideas as to the
prowess of Japan to-day. Japan is a small nation.
Forty years ago the Japanese dressed themselves up in
scale armour, like lobsters, and fought with bows and
arrows. And look at them to-day, knocking Russia
around the ring.

Imagine the state of affairs when, not little Japan,
but, let us say, great China, with her 400,000,000 people,
has also made some strides towards civihsation, has
carried out, for instance, that programme which I saw
announced in the papers yesterday, in the way Cf
building warships ; and imagine these 400,000,000 of
stolid, strong, patient, untiring land-bred men having
nowhere to live, having not earth upon which to stand,
and seeking a home. And imagine them casting their
eyes around for worlds to conquer, and seeing an
island continent half vacant and other places with a
few families scattered over the land, and a few millions
heaped together in the things these white people call
cities.

Imagine them saying, God — ^whatever gods there
be, whatever gods we worship — ^give us the right to
live ; we have the right to our share of the earth ;
here we have not enough of the earth ; we will seek
the earth ; we will take the earth ; we will keep the
earth. Then imagine the scanty peoples spread thinly
over these territories sa3dng : ‘ But we will pass a law
to keep you out.’ They answer : ‘ We will come in
nevertheless, we will walk through your paper law.’
And those who hold the ground say : ‘You shall not

270 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

come in ; we will shoot you ; we will keep you out with
force of arms.’ And their answer is : ‘ Keep us out if
you can ; we have arms as weU as you ; we are better
men than you ; we will come ; we will occupy ; we wiU
take ; we will keep.’ Is that a bogey — a mere dream of
the night ?

I tell you it is nothing of the sort. It is the thing
which wiU happen within one hundred years unless there
are very different arrangements made amongst the
Western nations from those which exist to-day ; unless
the people are moved from the cities back to the land.
Population, gentlemen, is like water : where there is a
hollow, thither it will flow to fill it. Therefore, it is
vital to the nations that they should look into this
matter and try to deal with it. I am as sure as that I
stend before you that these words are true ; that I get
at the truth, the essence, the fibre, the marrow of the
thing, and that truth, that essence, that fibre, that
marrow, is that you must get your people on to the land
out of the cities, and keep them on the land there to
multiply as God commanded them of old.

Now, gentlemen, how does this apply to the great
country in which I am to-day ? I say that it applies
very closely. I say that very soon there is going to be
an enormous competition for immigration, for popula-
tion, and especially for Anglo-Saxon population ; that
the time is coming when these people will be bid for,
when they will be sought for, when they wiU be paid
for — ^paid any price to get them. And I venture to say
to you : Get them while you can, get them from home,
get them from England.

Now, gentlemen, if I live, within a month or two I
hope to be able to show you a plan I have devised and
which I hope, which I even dare to think, may show
you how you can get a good many of these people.

APPENDIX 271

I will say no more of that now, except that I trust you
will agree with me when you read it, and that you will
let no obstacle stand in your way, but will aU put your
shoulders to the wheel and for the sake of your country,
and for the sake of all concerned, will try to help to
bring into your splendid land Englishmen who will be
made available to you, I hope, in many thousands.

I am beginning to be like one of your members of
parliament, I fear I am catching the disease. I will
only add this ; That all the world is mad on trade, all
the civilised world, at least, has got the idea that
wealth is everything. I controvert that statement ;

I say that wealth is nothing. What is wealth without
men and women to use it and spend it ? I remember
once writing a story in which I represented certain men
shut up in a cave and surrounded by all the diamonds
and all the gold of a continent. And they were
starving. I would like to ask you of what use were
those diamonds and that gold to them ?

In the same way, of what use is wealth unless you
have men and women — ^healthy men and women —
these are the real wealth of the nation. You remember
the old Greek fable of Antaeus, how, whenever he fell to
earth he arose refreshed and strong. So it is with us.
Do not believe, gentlemen, that wealth is everything.
Wealth, I maintain, is nothing compared to flesh and
blood, nothing as compared to healthy children ; nor
is pomp nor any other thing — these are nothing. The
strength of a people, gentlemen, is not to be found in
their Wall Streets, it is to be found in the farms and
fields and villages. I will only add just this one word
— ^that I do hope that what I have so humbly, so
inadequately tried to say before you may perhaps go
deep into the minds of some of you and set you think-
ing, For myself, I can only say that I have tried to

272 THE DAYS OF MY LIFE

carry out this task — ^not the task of speaking, but the
bigger one — ^with a single heart, because I believe in its
necessity, because I believe that no man can serve his
generation better than by tr3hng to point out these
things and try to make the people think. If I have
done that, gentlemen, I have not lived in vain. All
that I should ask to be said of me when I am gone is
this ; ‘ He did his best.’

INDEX

A., Mr., i. 84, 85, 88, 91-92
Aagaard, Jutland, i. i
Abu Simbel : rock temple, ii. 157
Academy, The, i. 248
Adcock, James, i. 4
Adcock, Samuel, i. 18 and w., 19
Afforestation Commission, ii. 21 1-2 13,
221-225

African missionary congress, a, i. 65-
66

African Review, The, ii. no, 1 19-120
Agard, Sir Andrew, i. i, 2, 3
Agricultural Post, an, urged in
interests of small-holders, ii. 144-
145, 146

Alexander, Mrs., ii. 83
Alexandra, Princess (afterwards
Queen), i. 203

Allan and the Holy Flower, central
idea in, ii. 93

Allan Quatermain, i. 75, 159, 233,
243-244, 246, 265, 274-276; ii. 206;
dedicated to his son, i. 159, 275 ;
a sad coincidence, 275 ; literary
coincidence in, ii. 96
Allan Quatermain, i. 8, 217, 235,
276 ; ii. 86, 207 ; identity of, ii. 85
Allan's Wife, i. 267
Amaswazi, the, i. 61
Amenophis III, ii. 82
Amenophis IV, ii. 82
American characteristics, ii. 50
American hospitality, ii. 49-50
American hotel telephones, ii. 176
American newspaper reporters, ii.
48-49, 176

Anglo-African Writers’ Club, ii. no
Animal life, views on, ii. 163, 252
Anselmo, Don, ii. 52-54
Anti-Vaccination craze, the, ii. 159-
140

Archer, Mr. William, i. 278
Ascension, Island of, i. 162-163

VOL. II.

Ashby St. Ledgers, Lord, ii. 209-210,
211, 223-224

Asquith, Rt. Hon. H. H., ii. 149
Assouan, i. 260-261
Athenaeum Club, ii. 121
Authors' Society, i. 38, 219 ; ii. 121
Ayesha, or the Return of She, i. 247,
252, 263 ; ii. 76, 102, 205, 207 ;
Mr. Lang’s views on, 205-206
Aztec gods, ii. 54-56
Aztec relics, ii. 51, 55
Aztec treasure, ii. 52-54, 59, 128
Aztecs, the, hidden city of, ii. 128, 129

Baker Pasha, i. 123
Balfour, Rt. Hon. A. J. (now Lord
Balfour), ii. 24, 25, 107, 192, 193,

194

Balfour, Eustace, i. 273
Banbury, Sir Frederick, ii. 225
Barber, Miss Agnes, [Mrs. John G.
Haggard] i. 216, 244, 248 ; ii. 28,
29, 30

Barber, Miss Mabel, ii. 29
Barber, Miss Marjorie (’ Michael
Fairless ’), i. 216 ; ii. 28-29, 30
Barber, Mrs., ii. 28
Barkly, Lady, i. 47
Barklys, the, i. 48
Basil, Brother. See Shell, Justin
Basutos (Secocoeni’s people), i. 86
Beatrice, i. 279 ; ii. 9 et seq. ; anony-
mous letters on, 13-15
Beaumont, W. H., Resident Magis-
trate of Newcastle, i. 48, 52, 53, 181,
184

Beckwith family, i. 164
Bedford, Duke of, i. 2
Bell, Moberly, ii. 137
Bell, Mr., i. 113
Bennington, Herts, i. 3

274 INDEX

Benson, Edward, Archbish.op of
Canterbury, ii. 219-220
Bereavement, thoughts on, ii. 44
Bernal Diaz, cited, ii. 55
Berserks, the, i. 27
Besant, Sir Walter, i. 249, 273 ; ii. 90 ;

letter on She, i. 249
Bevan Edwards, General, i. 288
Birch, Dr., ii. 32

Bird, John, i. 67, 68 ; The Annals of
Natal, by, 67 ; marvellous memory
of. 68

Birkbeck, Sir Edward, ii. in
Bison, on the plains of Texas, ii. 70
Blackett, Mr. Arthur, i. 214
Blackmore, R. D., i. 216
Blake, Mr., i. 195
Blomefield, George, i. 189, 195
Blood River battle, i. 81
Bob, retriever : death of, ii. 160 et seq,
Boer : characteristics and history, i.
77-78, 196 ; litigious, 109 ; custom
of ' opsitting,’ 79 ; relations with
Basutos and Zulus, i, 61-62, 70,
71, 79-80, 81, 82 ; alleged treaty
with Secocoeni, 82-83, 88, 92 ;
'^attitude to Transvaal annexation,
i' 95-97 ; relations with Zulus after
Majuba, 123, 124. See also under
Transvaal

Boer War (1881), i. 131, 175, 183 et
seq.; ii. 23, 25, 26 ; Majuba, i. 186 ;
ii. 25, 26, 262

Boer War (1900), i. 208 ; ii. 107, 124-
127, 134 ; Sannah’s Post affair, 124
Bolton, Mr. (Nelson’s sister’s hus-
band), i. 15

Booth, Mr, Bramwell, ii. 201, 218
Booth, General William, ii. 176, 216,
217 ; his peculiar diet, 217 ; and
the Labour Colonies Report, 201,
202 ; letter on Regeneration, 218 ;
attitude of, to the Sacraments, 236 ;
death of, 218 ; last words of, 257
Booth-Tucker, Commander, ii. 174,
201, 261, 266
Boulak Museum, i. 256
Bow property, i. 3
Bowen, Lord Justice, ii. 26
Boyd, Dr. (A.K.H.B.). i. 230
Brackenbury, Colonel (afterwards Sir
Henry), i. 50
Braddon, Miss, i. 267
Bradenham Hall, i. 3, 4, 15, 16; life
at, iq et seq. passim ; the doors at,
23 ; Wood Farm, i. 4
Brand, President, i, 62, 193
Brethren, The, ii. 154
Bronker’s Spruit massacre, i. 175

Brooke, Colonel (R.E.), i. 74, 82, 106,
123

Broome, Napier, i. 52
Brownrigg, Mr., climbs a P3nramid,
i. 261-262

Brugsch Bey, i. 256-257
Buck hunting, i. 54-55
Buddhism, ii. 238, 241
Budge, Sir E. W., i. 258 ; ii. 30-31 ;
stories of, et seq. ; views of, on
curses, 33-34
Buffer, Sir Red vers, ii. 26
Buffer, Lady Audrey, ii. 26
Buluwayo, ii. 123

Bulwer, Sir Henry, Lieut. -Governor
of Natal, i. 44. 45, 48, 51, 53, 54. 57,
62, III, 112, 124 ; High Commis-
sioner of Cyprus, i. 263 ; Marie
dedicated to, i. 45 ; ii. 231
Burgers, President of the Transvaal
Republic, i. 80, 83, 105
Burnham, Major F. R., D.S.O., ii.
12 1 ; exploits of, 123-127 ; char-
acteristics of, 127, 128 ; sixth

sense of, 127 ; Klondike pioneer,
127 ; observations of, on sledge
dogs, 127 ; death of his son, 129 ;
starts for Aztec treasure search,
129, 130

Burnham, Nada, ii. 123, 129

Burns, John, ii. 222

Butler, Major (afterwards SirWilliam) ,

i- 50-51

Cairo Museum, i. 257
Caithness, Lady, i. 37
Caldwell, Mrs., i. 263
Canadian Club speech, ii. 261 et seq.
Canadian Government, approval of
scheme for Labour Colonies, ii.
190, 195, 198

Canham (servant), i. 15, 16
Cape Town : Government House, i. 47
Cape Town, Bishop of, i. 48
Carmichael, Mr., search for Aztec
treasure, ii. 128-129
Carnarvon, Earl of, i, 83, 96, 100, 133,
135, 206

Carr, Mr., ii. 226
Carrington, Lord, ii. 118, 119
Carter, Mr., i. 260 ; ii. 157
Cassells, Messrs., i. 231-233
Cavendish, Lord Richard, ii. 224
Central and Associated Chambers of
Agriculture, ii. 134
Cetewayo and his White Neighbours,
i. 71, 103, 104, 158, 183, 204, 205
et seq. 210, 225 ; ii. 26

INDEX

Cetewayo, Zulu king : proclaimed
heir to throne, i. 70, 71 ; war with
Umbelazi, 76, 77 ; relations with
Boers, 61, 81, 82, 104 ; reply to
Shepstone on Transvaal annexa-
tion, 104 ; and Zulu War, 117 ;
Shepstone’s view of, 192 : fate of,
224 ; otherwise mentioned, 60, 65,
III, 112, 125, 204
Chaka, i. 71 ; ii. 104
Chamberlain, Rt. Hon. Joseph, ii.

142, 143, 193, 197
Chelmsford, Lord, i. 118

Cheyne, Major Reginald, ii. 125-126
Cheyne, Mrs. (nie Dorothy Haggard),

i. 221

Chiapas Indians’ curious mackintosh,

ii. 67

Chiapas, State of, ii. 59

Child, The, of Storm, i. 77 ; ii. 207

China, ii. 269

Christendom, reunion of, ii. 236
Christianity, ii. 237, 240-241, 244,
259 ; and Buddhism contrasted,
238

Christianity and Islamism in Africa,
i. 65

Church and State, pamphlet, ii. 219
Churchill, Lord Randolph, i. 207
Churchill, Winston, ii. 222 ; letter on
Allan Quatermain, i. 275
Cities, life in, ii. 266 et seq,

Clarke, Major (afterwards Sir Marshal) ,

i. 74, 77, 83, 88, 93. 106 ; ii. 74 ;
letter of, on motives of Shepstone in
annexing Transvaal, i. 81-82 ; inci-
dent of the -filibustering volunteers,
106 ; on Sir Hercules Robinson,
206-207

Class antagonism, on, ii. 108
Cleopatra, i. 254, 260, 266, 268-272,
276, 277 ; ii. 2, 5 ; dedicated to
Sir Rider’s mother, i. 271
Clifton, Sir John, i. 2
Coast Erosion, Royal Commission on,

ii. 209-225 passim
Coblentz, i. ii

Cochrane, Arthur H. D., i. 115, 116,
131, 180 ; friendship with H.R.H.,
116, 127; ii. 80; nearly killed
while despatch riding, i. 127 ;
ostrich farming with Haggard, 141,

143, 168, 174, 189, 195, 197 : helps
in East Norfolk election cam-
paign, ii. 1 1 3, 1 14 ; work for Rural
England, 141, 151, 152

Coghill, Aide-de-camp : killed at
Isandhlwana, i. 120
Colenso, Bishop, i. 55, 56, 63, 64 ;

275

advocate of rights of natives, 66 ;
native name of, 67
Coleridge, Lord Chief Justice, ii. 26
Colley, Colonel (afterwards Sir George
Pomeroy), i. 51, 176, 181, 182, 185,
186, 187, 188

Colley, Lady, i. 176, 177, 186
Cologne, i. 12

Colonel Quaritch, V.C., i. iSn., 266,
280

Confession, ii. 235

Conscription, ii. 107

Conservative Government (1905), ii.

192-193. 194

Contemporary Review, i. 264
Copeland (steamer), i. 284, 288 etseq. ;
wrecked in Pentland Firth, 290-
293 ; the drunken second mate, 294
Copyright Bill, ii. 192
Cordova ; the mosque at, ii. 159
Corelli, Miss Marie, ii. 10 ; apprecia-
tion of Beatrice, ii. 10
Cork, ii. 2 13-2 14
Courtney, Mr., i. 123
Cox, Captain, i. 72
Cremation, i. 258

Crosse, Professor Andrew : sons %f ,
i. 9

Cunynghame, Sir Arthur, i. 107, 120

Curzon, Lord, ii. 223

Cyprus, i. 263, 264 ; ii. 137, 138

Daily Express, ii. 134, 137, 1 41
Daily Mail, articles on Egyptian
experiences, ii. 158
Daily News, review of Cetewayo and
his White Neighbours, i. 205
d'Anethan, Baroness A. {^nie Mary
Haggard), i. 100
Daniel, Mr. D. R., ii. 216
Dawn, i. 209 et seq., 2 17-221 passim,
265, 268 ; reviews, 218 ; Mr.
Lang on, i. 228

Dead, the, prayer for, i. 24, 25 ; ii. 246
Deane, Sir Henry Bargrave, i. xix,
225, 226

Deane, Sir James, i. 225
Death, thoughts on, ii. 78, 79, 80, 81
Death and continuance of individual
existence, ii. 165, 233, 242-243, 249-
250, 251, 259; Sir Oliver Lodge’s
views, 165

Death and friendship, i. 146
Deir-el-Behari, tombs discoveries, i.
256-257

Delagoa Bay railway, i. 80
Delhi, P. & O. liner, ii. 156
Demeste, Professor, i. 44

INDEX

276

Denmark, agricultural system in,
ii. 220

de Roebeck, i. 152
Desborough, Lord, ii. 223
Development Board : Agriculture, ii.
150, 222, 223, 224

Deventer (Boer), i. 84, 85, 90, gi, 92
Devil, Personal ; belief in a, ii. 247-249
de Villiers, Sir Henry, i. 193
De Wet : Recorder of Kimberley,

i- 173

Diaz, President, ii. 57, 129
Dickens Centenary Fund Committee,

ii- 73

Dinizulu, i. 124
Disraeli, i. xxi ; ii. 21 1
Ditchingham House, i. 164
Dixie, Lady Florence, ii. 10-12
Doctor Theme, ii. 99, 139
Dogs : Major Burnbam’s observa-
tions on sledge dogs, ii. 127
Dominions Royal Commission, ii. 85,
121, 227-230, 232
Doveton, Bazett, i. 3
Doveton, Ella. See Haggard, Mrs.
W. M. R.

Dftam pictures, ii. 86-88, 167-172
Dunkirk, i. 9
Durban Harbour, i. 50
Dynamite incident, the, i. 129

East Norfolk constituency, electoral
campaign, ii. in et seq.

Ebbage, Mr., ii. g6
Edward VII, ii. 21 4-21 5 ; death of,
ii. 213-214

Eg5rpt, visits to, in 1887, i. 254, 256-
263 ; in 1904, ii. 155 ; in 1912,
ii. 230 ; fascination of ancient
Egypt for H. R. H., i. 254, 255, ii.
^57» i an eventful voyage, ii.

1557156

Egj^ptians, Old : Sir E. W. Budge’s
stories of the, ii. 30-34
Egyptian tombs, i. 257-261 ; desecra-
tion of, ii. 157, 158
Eliot, George, i. 21 1
El Paso, ii. 50

Elwes, Lieut., i. 176, 177, 182
Emigration agencies, ii. 203
Empress Eugenie, i. 171
Empress Frederick, the : accepts
dedication of Eric BrighteyeSf ii.
I et seq.

Eric Brighteyes, i. 287, ii. i, 7, 90, 206;
dedicated to the Empress Frederick,
I et seq. ; Mr. Lang’s comments
on, 4-6, 206

Essex, Colonel, i. 120
Eternal Life, ii. 259
Eugenie, Empress, i. 171
Evans, Sir John, i. 248

' Fairless, Michael.’ See Barber, Miss
Marjorie

Fair Margaret, ii. 99-100, 159, 207
Faith, views on, ii. 46, 236 et seq., 244,
246, 257, 259
Famagusta, i. 263-264
Families, limitation of, ii. 178, 184
Farmer's Year, A, i. xxiv; ii. 13, 132-

133

Fell, Lieutenant, i. 130
Ferdinand and Isabella, tomb of,
ii. 159

Ferreting, ii. 76
fiolkes. Sir William, ii. 225
Fiction, article on, written for
Contemporary Review, i. 264-265
Fielding, Mr., ii. 190, 200
Fighting, tales of : apologia for,
ii. 103-105
Fishing, ii. 163
Florence, visit to, ii. 134, 137
Forgiveness, ii. 257, 258-259
Fort Weber, i. 83, 84, 91
Fowle, Mrs., i. 12, 13
Fowle, Rev. i. 12-13
Framlingham Farmers' Club, ii. 143
France, falling birth-rate of, ii, 45
Franklin Club, the, ii. 1 76
Frederick, the Emperor, ii. i, 3
Free Trade, ii. 142, 143
French wars, the, i. 2
Frere, Sir Bar tie. High Commissioner
for South Africa, i. 116-117, 121,
131, 134-135, 193 ; ii. 263 ; char-
acteristics of, i. 1 32-1 33 ; estimate
of his character, i. 13 3-1 3 4 ; sends
ultimatum to the Zulus, 117, 134 ;
his view of Shepstone, 133 ; atti-
tude of, to the Zulus, 134 ; official
persecution of, 1 34-1 35 ; letter to
Rider Haggard, 191 ; mentioned,

i. 80, 168

Frontera, ii. 59, 60, 68, 69
Froude, Anthony, i. 55, 177
Fuller, i. 152

Future life : belief in, ii. 45-46 ;
thoughts on, 74

Fynney, Mr. (Chief Interpreter on
Shepstone’s staff), i. 56, 74, 75, 76 ;

ii. 20

Galock (Basuto), i. 87
Gardener's Year, A, ii. 154
Garrapatas, ticks, ii. 61

INDEX

Garsington Rectory, i. 7
Gehenn, flies, ii. 61
Gentility, on, i. 66-67
Ge-yitleman' s Magazine, i. 57
George, Mr. Lloyd, ii. 209 ; and the
Afforestation scheme, ii. 221-222,
224

Ghizeh pyramids, excavation of early
burials, i. 257

Ghost Kings, The, ii. 92, 208
Gibbs (maid), i. 175, 178, 179, 180-
181, 182, 200

Giles, Colonel Peter Brome, ii. 100
Gifford, Lord, i. 50
Gladstone, Mr. : policy of, for Trans-
vaal, i. 122, 123, 141, 191 ; burnt
in effigy, 194

Gladstone's Colonial policy, ii. 109
Glaisher, H., i, 234
Glynn, Sergeant, i. 129
God : the Fatherhood of, ii. 251-253
Goods Post, suggestion for a, ii. 144-
145, 146

Gordon, Charles, i. 122
Gorkom, Van, i. 83, 88, 91
Goschen, Lord, ii. 24
Gosse, Sir Edmund, C.B., i. 249, 250,
273, 276

Gosses, the, ii. 42
Graham, Mr. Fred., ii. 1 74-1 75
Graham, Rev. Mr., i. 7, 30
Graham, Mrs., i. 7, 8
Granada : the Alhambra, ii. 159
Graphic, The, i. 247, 248
Green, Mrs. Maddison {nie Ella
Haggard), i. 6, 25, 49
Green, Rev. Chas. Maddison, i. 5
Grey, Earl, Governor-General of
Canada, ii. 175, i 9 o» i 95 » 261 ;
letters of, to H. R. Haggard on
Labour Colonies Report, 200, 201
Grey, Sir Edward, ii. 229
Grimshaw, Mr., ii. 212
Guatemoc, treasure of, ii. 52-54, 128
Gudmunson, Thorgrimmer (guide),
i. 285

Guest, Mr. Ivor. See Ashby St.

Ledgers, Lord
Guildenstjerne family, i. i
Gunnar : a sa^ng of, i. 126
Guppy, Mrs., i. 37

Haggard, Sir H. Rider : birth, i. 3,
4 ; birthplace, 4 ; childhood, 5 et
seq. ; schooldays, 5-7, 30 ; Dun-
kirk, 9 ; nearly drowned at Tr6-
port, 9-1 1 ; Rhine trip, ii ; a
solitary supper, 12 ; youth, 28 et

277

seq. ; fails in Army examination,
28 ; life at Bradenham, 28-30 ;
Ipswich Grammar School, 31-35 ;
the clerical hat, 31 ; summer
holidays in Switzerland, 35 ; goes
to Scoones’ to prepare for work at
Foreign Office, 35-36, 43. 44 ; life
in London, 36 et seq. ] experiences
at spiritualistic stances, 37-41 ;
first love affair, 42-43 ; recol-
lections of Paris, 43 ; at Tours, 44 ;
leaves for Natal on staff of Sir
Henry Bulwer, 44 et seq., 53-54,
71 ; characteristics at this period,
49 ; Zulu name for, 49 ; letters to
home, 52 et seq., 97 et seq. ; duties
at Government House, 53-54, 62-
63 ; buck hunting, 54 ; lost in
the bush, 57-58 ; the cacoethes
scribendi takes hold, 61 ; attached
to staff of Sir Theophilus Shep-
stone, 74, 1 01-103 ; on trek to
Pretoria, 76-77 ; invited to opsit,
79 ; accompanies Mission to Seco-
coeni, 83 et seq. ; painful letter from
his father, 21, 99 ; life in Pretoria,
95 et seq. ; with Col. Brooke heists
British flag at Pretoria, 106-107 ;
appointed Master of the Transvaal
High Court, 108, 113, 114-115 ;
builds house with Cochrane, 115-
116; end of a love affair, 116 ;
joins the Pretoria Horse, 126 et seq.',
mission to watch the Boers, 127-
130 ; article on Secocoeni visit,
1 1 2, 136 ; reproved by Sir Bartle
Frere, 136 ; on circuit with Judge
Kotz 6 , 137 ; lost in the veld, 138-
140, 201 ; end of his soldiering,
140 ; ostrich farming with Coch-
rane, 141, 143, 174, 188, 197 ;
resigns Mastership of the High
Court, 1 41, 142 ; returns to

England, 146, 162-163 ; en-

deavours to dissuade Sheil from
monastic life, 147 et seq., 153, 154 ;
visits Mount St. Bernard’s Abbey,
153 ; marriage, 153, 163, 165-167 ;
attempts to re-enter Colonial
Service, 167, 168 ; returns to

Natal, 175 ; the dinner at Govern-
ment House, 176-177 ; sets out
for Newcastle, 175, 176 et seq. ;
Hilldrop and Rooipoint farm, 180,
184, 185, 189-190, 195-196 ; farm
work, 196-199 ; birth of a son,
1 90 ; decides to return to England,
195 ; the sale at Hilldrop, 201 ;
again at Bradenham, 203 ; called

INDEX

278

to the Bar, 203 ; first book, 204 et
seq. ; attempts at fiction, 209 ei
seq. ; Ditchingham and London, 209,
220-221, 225 ; practice in Divorce
Court, 225, 244, 246 ; reporting for
The Times, 244; overwork, 246;
Press attacks, 247, 266 ; visit to
Egypt, 254 etseq. ; Cyprus, 263-264 ;
Iceland visit, 284 et seq. ] wrecked
in Pentland Firth, 289-294; journey
to Mexico, ii. 40 et seq. (and see
under heading Mexico) ; fore-
bodings, 42-43 ; grief and shock
at death of his son, 40 et seq., 53,
56, 58, 59, yr ; politics, i. xx-xxi ;
ii. 106 et seq. ; contests East
Norfolk, i. xxi ; ii. in et seq.;
connection with African Review,
no, 119-120 ; death of his father,
120 ; elected chairman of local
bench of magistrates, 121 ; jour-
ney to Cyprus and the Holy Land,
138 et seq. ; accompanied by his
nephew as secretary, 138, 139 ;
psychical experiences : the retriever
Bob, 1 59 et seq. ; appointed Com-
fhissioner to report on Labour
Colonies, 173 et seq.; a guest to
luncheon at White House, 178 ;
speech to Canadian Club in
Ottawa, 261 et seq. ; report of, on
Labour Colonies, 190 et seq. ; inter-
view with Mr. Alfred Lyttelton,
igi ; nursing home operation on,
204-205, 207 ; a member of Com-
mission on Coast Erosion, 209, 21 1,
225 ; Chairman of Unemployed
Labour and Reclamation Com-
mittee, 21 1 ; suggestiononAfiores-
tation, 211, 221 ; undertakes report
on Salvation Army social work,
2 i 6 ; notes of, on an interview with
Mr. Lloyd George, 221-223 ; an
attack of bronchitis, 226 ; Knight-
hood conferred on, 226 ; Develop-
ment Board, 221 et seq. ; Dominions
Royal Commission, 227-230, 232 ;
death falsely rumoured, i. xvii
See also under subject headings.

Characteristics of, i. 28, 49, 105
221 ; ii. 232 ; fatalism, i. 22,
100 ; ambitions, i. 102 ; Par-
liamentary ambitions, i. xx-
xxi ; cross-bench mind, ii.
106 ; views on religion, i. 148 ;
ii. 233, 234 et seq. ; Bible
reading, a^Set seq.; on prayer,
244 et seq.

Letters to :

Asquith, Rt. Hon. H. H., ii. 149
Empress Frederick, ii. 2
Haggard, Mary (sister), i. 216
Haggard, William [Sir Wm.]
(brother), i. 166
Haggard, W. M. R. (father), i.
47, 98, loi, 103, 113, 114,
115, 182, 190, 195
Haggard, W. M. R., Mrs.
(mother), i. 52, 107, no, in,
112, 188. See also pages i.
54. 56, 57i 61, 62, 97-98, 285
Hanbury, R. W., ii. 145
Lang, Andrew, i. 74-81
Lyttelton, Alfred, ii. 174, 190
Onslow, Lord, ii. 147
Roosevelt, President, ii. 181,
182, 185, 187
Rosebery, Lord, ii. 198
Spectator, The, editor of, ii. 99
Times, The, editor of, ii. 160

Literary : first writing for publi-
cation, i. 57 ; the cacoethes
scribendi takes hold, 61 ;
first book, 204 et seq. ; attempts
at fiction, 209 et seq. ; sick of
novel writing, 273 ; ii. 84 ; un-
published tale, i. 278 ; troubled
over some criticism oi Beatrice,
ii. 1 4-1 5 ; his novel with a pur-
pose, ii. 139 ; reply to en-
quiries as to best passages in
his works, 206 ; reflections, i.
xxii et Seq., 256 ; ii. 84 et seq.,
231, 263-265. And see under
subject headings and titles of
books

Political views, ii. 106 et seq.

Reminiscences : references to, ii,
74, 226, 232

Haggard, Lady (nde Louisa Margit-
son), i. 164-165 : engagement and
marriage, i. 164-167 ; in Natal, i.
175, 176, 179, 184 ; mentioned, i.

43. 152. 153. 154. 155. 158, 169,

244 ; ii. 228
Haggard family, i. i, 2
Haggard, Alfred (brother), i. 30, 35 ;
ii. 1 15

Haggard, Andrew [Sir Andrew]
(ancestor), i. i, 2, 3
Haggard, Andrew (brother), i. 5, 6,
9 ^ 13, 29r^o, 35, 94
Haggard, Angela (daughter), i. 209 ;
ii. 155, 176, 178, 230

INDEX

279

Haggard, Arthur (brother), i. 9, 10,
i 7 » 25, 31

Haggard, Bazett M. (brother), i. 30,
237, 239, 240

Haggard, Dorothy (daughter) [Sybil
Dorothy Rider, now Mrs. Cheyne],

i. 220--22I ; ii. lijo

Haggard, Ella (sister) [Mrs. Maddi-
son Green], i. 6, 25, 49
Haggard, George [Major George]
(cousin), i. 225

Haggard, ' Jock ’ [Rider] (son), i. 159,
190, 225 ; ii. 41 et seq.

Haggard, John [Dr. John] (great-
uncle), i. xix

Haggard, John (ancestor), i. 3
Haggard, John G. [Jack] (brother), i.
9, 30, 1G2, 188, 189, 190, 192, 216 ;

ii. 28, 134

Haggard, John G., Mrs. [}iSe Agnes
Barber], i. 216 ; ii. 28, 134
Haggard, Lilias (daughter), ii. 84
Haggard, Mary (sister) [Baroness A.

d’Anethan], i. 100, 165, 216
Haggard, William (brother) [Sir
William], i. 30, 98, 122, 166 ;
ii. I, 2, 177

Haggard, William (grandfather), i. 3
Haggard, William Henry (great-
great-grandfather), i. 3
Haggard, William Henry (great-
grandfather), i. 3

Haggard, William Meybohm Rider
(father), i. 3, 5 ; children of, i- 3 J
barrister, i. 16 ; characteristics,
i. 16-21, 23, 44 ; ii. 120, 121 ;
voice, i. 16, 17 ; incident of his
false teeth, i. 11-12 ; Chairman
Quarter Sessions, i. 16 ; death, ii.
120 ; otherwise mentioned, i. 25,
27. 30. 31. 35 , 43 i 272
Haggard, William, Mrs. [nde Ella
Doveton] : marriage, i. 3, 25 ;
children and home life, 3, 25-27 ;
characteristics, 24-27, 47 ; poem
by, entitled Life and its Author,
26 ; verses to her son Rider (on
leaving home) , 46-47 ; letters to
Rider on receiving Cleopatra, 271-
272 ; death, 272 ; last written
words of, 25
Halsbury, Lord, ii. 193
Hamilton, Lady, i, 15, 16
Hamilton, Sir Ian, ii. 25, 26 ; escape
from Majuba, 25-26
Hamilton, Dr. Robert (of Lynn), i. 164
Hammond, John Hays, ii. 128, 129
Hanbury, R. W., ii. 144, 145, X46
Harcourt, Mr, L., ii. 227-229

Harcourt, Sir William, ii. 228
Hardy, Mr. Thomas, i. 272-273 ; ii. 214
Hartcup, Mr. Herbert, ii. 102
Hay, Mr. : American Secretary of
State, ii. 177

Hay-Pauncefote Treaty, ii. 177
Haymaking at Rooipoint, i. 198-199
Heart of the World, ii. 102
Heaton, Henniker (Postmaster-Gen-
eral), ii. 144

Hector, Miss Ida, i., xvii ; ii. 72, 83
Hector, Mrs., ii. 83
Hely-Hutchinson, Lady, i. 75
Plenderson, Mr., i. 74 ; chairman
Finance Committee, Transvaal, 107
Henley, W. E., i. 226, 231 ; charac-
teristics of, 276 : letters to H. R. H.,
276-2 78
Henry VI, i. 2

Herbert, Sir Robert, i. 222, 223
Hicks Beach, Sir Michael, i. 135
Hilldrop, life at, during the Boer
rebellion, i. 180-196 passim ; the
sale at, 200-201

Hocking (maid), i. 5, ii, 12, 19 ; ii. 120
Holden, Dr., i. 32, 251, 252
Holland, Mr. Bernard, ii. 201 •

Holtzhausen, Mr., i. 83, 88, 91
Holy Land, the, ii. 137, 138, 139
Houghton, Mr. and Mrs., ii. 96
House of Lords reform, ii. 192, 193
Hurst and Blackett, Messrs., i. 214,
215, 218, 226
Hut tax, the, i. 55

Iceland visit, i. 278, 284, 285-288 ;
ii. I ; the Golden Falls, . i. 286 ;
fishing in, 287 ; relics, 288
Icelandic sagas, the, i. 288-2S9
Illustrated London News, i. 272
Imperial Federation : Shepstone’s
views, ii. 20

Imperial Preference, ii. 109
Imperialism, ii. 109
Inchcape, Lord, ii. 227
Indians, the, of remoter Mexico, ii. 67
Ingogo disaster, the, i. 120, 183
Ingram, * Midge,' of The Illustrated
London News, ii. 32, 33
Ipswich Grammar School, i. 3 i *“35 I
revisited, 33-34

Irish, the : characteristics of, ii. 213,
214

Irish Land Bill, i. 191
Irish question, ii. 192
Isandhlwana, i. 1 17-120
Islamism, i. 148 ; and Christianity in
Africa, i. 65

,28o

INDEX

Jackson, Mr. E., captain of the
Pretoria Horse, i. 126, 128, 130 ;
letter to H. R. H., 128
James, Captain, i. 74 ; ii. 20
James of Hereford, Lord, ii. 149
Jameson, L. S., ii. 118, 128
Jameson Raid, ii. iii, 116, 117
Japan, ii. 269

Jeafireson, John Cordy, i. 210, 212-
216 ; ii. 12, 13 ; letter to H. R. H.
on his first novel, i. 21 1-2 12
Jebb, J. Gladwyn, ii. 39, 43, 52, 53.
55 > 59. ^8 ; character of, 39-40 ;
and the ill-omened effi^ of Huit-
zilopochtli, 55, 56 ; his unselfish
reticence, 62, 63, 64
Jebb, Mrs., ii. 40, 43 ; Life and Adven-
tures of J. G. Jebb, by, ii. 39, 55, 56,

Jehu, Professor, ii. 225
Jenner Society, the, ii. 140
Jess, i. 109, 244-245, 254, 265-266,
268 ; ii. 3, 26, 207 ; the character
Frank Muller, i. 109 ; Jess’s
Cottage (Mooifontein), 115, 180
Jesus Christ : temptations of, ii. 257-
25S; Resurrection of, 241, 244
Joan Haste, ii. 103
Jolivet, Bishop, i. 62
Journal of the Society for Psychical
Research, ii. 159, 162
Judgment, Eternal, ii. 243
Juta, High Sheriff, i. 113

Kaffir characteristics, i. 172
Kaffir labour : attitude of some
white settlers, i. 66
Kaf&r labourers, i. 200
Kaf&r servants, i. 140
Kelly (barrister), i. 244
Kennedy, Captain, ii. 148
Kerr, Mr., i. 244
Khu-en-aten, ii. 82
Kimberley, Lord, i. 135
King, W. L. Mackenzie, Canadian
Prime Minister, ii. 261
King Solomon* s Mines, i. xix, xx, 226,
227, 231-235, 241-243, 249, 250,
265, 275 ; ii. 96, 206
King’s Lynn, electoral contest de-
clined, ii. no

Kipling, Rudyard : views on fiction,

i. xxii ; letter of, on Nada the Lily,

ii. 16-17 ; first acquaintance with,

26-27 i Ghost Kings, 92,

208 ; The Way of the Spirit, dedi-
cated to, 159 ; pleasant recollec-

tions of, 208 ; view of the attacks
on, 208-209
Knebworth, i. 3
Kor, ii. 75, 76

Kotz6, Mr. Justice, i. 109, 137, 143 ;
the herd of blesbuck, 137 ; his
memory, 143 ; advice on career for
H. R. H., 173-174; letter on

Haggard’s resignation, 1 42-1 43
Kruger, Paul, i. 97. m ii- 117

L. Arthur, i. 146, 217
Labour Colonies Commission, ii. 173
et seq., 261

Labour Colonies, Report on, ii. 190
et seq. ; reception by Press, 195 ,*
Departmental Committee on, 195-
203 passim, 212
Lambert, H., ii. 197
Lancet, The, ii. 140
Land Settlement question, ii. 184, 186,
18S, 196, 265 et seq.

Land Settlement Report, ii. 212. See
Labour Colonies Report
Lang, Andrew, ii. 72 et seq. ; friend-
ship with Haggard, i. 217, 226-228,
231 ; ii. 72, 78, 79, 80 ; poem
Zimbabwe quoted, i. 243 ; dedi-
cates his book In the Wrong
Paradise to H. R. H., i. 24S ; his
direction for Marloes Road, ii. 72 ;
suggestion from Haggard for further
collaboration, ii. 75-76 ; South
African tour suggested to, ii. 78 ;
Haggard’s apprehensions regarding,
ii. 72-73 ; failing health of, ii. 78,
81 ; Haggard’s last meeting with,
ii. 73 ; last notes from, ii. 78 ;
verses from Lockhart quoted by,
79-80 ; death, ii. 72, 81 ; be-
queathes memento to H. R. H., 82

Characteristics of, i. 228-230*
265, 283 ; ii. 73, 80, 81, 206 J
appreciation of his abilities, i.

228- 229 ; as critic, 228 ;
judgment on imaginative fic-
tion, ii. 206 ; poetry of, i. 228,

229- 230

Letters and opinions of, on :
Allan Quatermain, i. 276
Ayesha, ii. 205-206
Beatrice, ii. 9-10, 13, 17 ; on
suggested suppression of, ii.

14. 15

Cleopatra, i. 269, 270, 282
Colonel Quaritch, i. 266
Dawn, i. 228

INDEX

Eric Brighteyes, ii. 4, 5, 6, 17,
18, 206

Jess, i. 265, 273
King Solomon’s Mines, i. 227,
232, 233-234

Mahatma, The, and the Hare, ii.
73

Kada the Lily, ii. 17, 18
Novel writing, i. 273-274
She, i. 247-248, 274
Stevenson, R. L., ii. 15
Umslopogaas, epitaph on, i.
274

Witch's Head, i. 227, 22S
World's Desire, The, i. 278,
2S0-283 ; ii. 7, 9, 76 ; col-
laborates in, i. 278, 280-2S3 ;
unpublished postscript to,
2S0 ; Song of the Bow, 2S3

OthcrAvise mentioned, i. 239, 241,
271, 273, 276, 277, 278 ; ii. 25

Lang, Mrs., i. 274 ; ii. 73
Langalibalelc rising, i. 47, 69
Lang’s Nek disaster, i. 120
Lanky Boy, Zulu servant, i. loG
Lanyon, Colonel (afterwards Sir
Owen), i. 128 and 131, 167
Laurier, Sir Wilfrid, ii. 191, 198
Leinster, Duchess of, i. 42
Leslie, Lady, i. 275

Leyds, Dr., The First Annexation of
the Transvaal, i. 81, 82
Lincolnshire, Marquis of, ii. 118
Linton, Mrs. Lynn, i. 229
Literary coincidences, ii. 96-97, 99-
103

Little, Mr. Leon, ii. 132
Lobengula, ii. 115
Local taxation, ii. 192
Lockhart’s verses quoted by A. Lang,
ii. 79, 80

Lodge, Sir Oliver, i. 41 ; ii. 165 ;
views of, on existence after death,
ii. 165 ; view of, on Mr. Haggard's
series of imaginings, 1 71-172
Loftie, Rev. W. J., i. 251, 273 ; ii. 82
Long, Walter, ii. 224, 225
Longman, Charles : friendship with
H.R.H., i. 217, 267, 268 ; ii. 80 ;
views of, OIL Beatrice, i. 279 ; ii. 14,
15 ; on Cleopatra, i. 268, 269 ; on
Nada the Lily, ii. 18, 20 ; Colonel
Quaritch dedicated to, i. 266 ; sug-
gests further collaboration with
Andrew Lang, ii. 75 ; letter of, on
death of Andrew Lang, ii. 81 ; re-
mark of, on Dominions Commis-
sionership, ii. 228

281

Letters of, i. 251, 274, 279, 280 ;
ii. 14, 18, 81

Mentioned, i. 241, 244, 268, 282,
283 ; ii. 78, 90, 122, 132
Longman' s Magazine, i. 244, 274 ;
ii. 132

Longmans, Messrs., i. 24S, 268
Lonsdale, Lady, i. 203
Loomis, Mr., Under Secretary of
State, U.S.A., ii. 177
Love, immortality of, ii. 259
Lyle, Dr., i. 74, 82, 140, 141
Lyttelton, Rt. Hon. Alfred, ii. 173 ;
and the Labour Colonies Report,
191. 193. i 95 > 196, 197
Lytton, Lord, i. 207 ; ii. 24

MacCalmont, Colonel, ii. iii
Macedonia, P. & O. liner, i. 289
‘ Mackintosh ’ of the Chiapas Indians,
ii. 67

Maclean, J. M., i. 80
Macrorie, Bishop, i. 63
Mahatma, The, and the Hare, ii. 73-
76, 166

Maiwa's Revenge, i. 279, 280 ; ii. ^
Majuba, i. 1S6 ; ii. 25, 26, 262
Makurupiji (Basuto), i. 84, 85, 87, 88
Malins, Vice-Chancellor, i. 165
Marconi, Signor, ii. 51
Margitson family, i. 164
Margitson, Louisa, i. 164, 166. See
Haggard, Lady
Margitson, Major, i. 164
Marie, ii. 231 ; dedicated to Sir
Henry Bulwer, i. 45 ; ii. 231
Maritzburg : dinner at Government
House, i. 176-177

Marloes Road : Mr. Lang’s direction,
ii. 72

Maspero, Sir Gaston, ii. 230 ; Notes
de Voyage, ii. 101-102
Matabele, the, ii. 115, 117
Matabele war, ii. 12 3-1 2 4
Maximilian, Emperor, ii. 58
Maxwell, Mr., i. 267
Maxwell, Sir Herbert, ii. 223
Mazooku : Zulu servant, i. 1 39-1 40,
185, 200, 201, 202
Meade, Captain, ii. 121
Melville, i. 120

Memory : some instances of mar-
vellous memory, i. 68
Meneptah, Pharaoh, ii. 230-231
Merensky, Rev. A., German mis-
sionary, i. 83
Meux Collection, ii. 33
Meux, Sir Henry, ii. 33

282

INDEX

Meux, Lady, ii. 33

Mexican guile : instance of, ii. 68 et
seq.

Mexican ventures, ii. 59 ; journey to
the silver mine, 64 et seq. ; arrival
at the mine, 67

Mexican visit, ii. 40, 42, 47, 48
Brigands, ii. 51, 58, 59
Canna scrub, ii. 66
Church bells, ii. 58
Churches, ii. 59
Cocoa plantation, the, ii. 65
Forest, primeval, the, ii. 66
Hacienda, the, by the lake, ii. 56-57
Hidden treasure, the story of,
ii. 51 et seq.

Indians, the, of remoter Mexico,
ii. 66, 67

Mosquitoes and other insects, ii. 60,
6r

Mountain paths, ii. 57, 65-66
Night robbers, the, ii. 62 et seq.
Plants and ferns, ii. 68 ; the sack
of fern roots, 68, 70
Railroad travel in Mexico, ii. 51, 59
String bridge, the, ii. 66
♦ITarantula, ii. 68

Mexico at the time of H. R. H.’s visit,
ii. 57-59. 64, 65, 70
Mexico City, ii. 51, 70
Mexico, Gulf of, ii. 69 ; the ' norther,*
69, 70

Mexico, revolution in, ii. 57
Mexico, smallpox in, ii, 140
Meybohm, James, i. 3
M*hlopekazi. See Umslopogaas
* Michael Fairless,’ The Roadmender,
ii. 28, 29 ; Brother Hilaries, 29
Milner, Lord, ii. 223
Mr. MeesorCs Will, i. 267 ; ii, 96-97
Miracles, the, of the New Testament,
ii. 240

Mitchell, Colonel, afterwards Sir
Charles, i. 176, 186
Mitchell, Dr. Weir, ii. 176
Montezuma, the Emperor, ii. 52
Treasure of, ii. 59. See Guatemoc
Sacred treasure, ii. 128
Montezuma' s Daughter, ii. 40, 44, 54,
102

Morcom, Mr., i. 74, 96

Moresco, the hunting horse, i. 138-

139

Morning Star, dedicated to Sir E. W.
Budge, ii. 30

Morris, William : visit to, i. 284-285
Mosquitoes, ii. 60, 61
Murray, Douglas, ii. 32
Mysticism, ii. 172

Nada the Lily, i. 56, 238, 239 ; ii. 16
et seq., 104, 207: dedicated to Sir
Theophilus Shepstone, 19, 20-22
Naples, visit to, ii. 159
Natal Wityiess, The, i. 74 w.

National characteristics, ii. 97-98
Natives : attitude of some white
settlers towards, i. 66 ; gentility
among, 67

Natives, unknown telegraphic method
of, i. 119
Nefertiti, ii. 82

Nefer-tari, Queen : tomb of, ii. 157

Nelson, Honoria, 16

Nelson, Lord, i. 15, 16

Nest a Amor, unpublished tale, i. 278

New Orleans, ii. 50

New Review, The, i. 283

New Testament, the, ii. 239, 244

New York, ii. 48-50, 70

Niagara, ii. 70

Nofertari, i. 260

Norfolk Chamber of Agriculture, ii.
133

Norris, Mr., i. 40, 147, 152, 155,

157

Norse people : Sir Rider’s affection
for, i. 255

* Norther,' the, ii. 69, 70
Norwich, i. 3
Nursing homes, ii. 205

O’Connor, Chief Justice, i. 67
Qgard, Sir Andrew, i. i, 2, 3
Oham, brother of Cetewayo, i. 65
Old Age Pensions, ii. 112, 113
Old Ford House, i. 3
Old Testament, the, i. 238
Onslow, Lord, ii. 147, 148, 149
Osborn, Jack, i. 168, 171-172
Osborn, Mr* (afterwards Sir Melmoth),
i. 74, 105, 118, 120, 124, 141, 180 ;
native name for, 75 ; an eye-
witness of the Tugela battle, 76-
77 ; friendship with Haggard, 77 ;
Secocoeni mission, 83, 84, 88, 89,
90, 93 ; retort to Mr. A., 92 ;
Colonial Secretary, Transvaal, loi ;
warns Lord Chelmsford against
Zululand advance, 118 ; house and
farm at Newcastle, 141, 180 ;

entrusts his son to Haggard’s
guardianship, 168 ; British Resi-
dent in Zululand, 169-171 ; death,
1 71 ; religious views of, 172 ; the
origin of Alston in The Witch's
Head, 172 ; a believer in the raw

INDEX

Kaffir, 172 ; mentioned, i. 79, 103,
1 19 ; ii. 20, 74

Letters of, to H. R. H., i. 142,
16S-169, 171, 223-224
Ostriches, habits of, i. 197 ; and dogs,
197

Pagate (native chief), i. 58
Pagdte’s kraal, i. 5S-59 ; war dance
at, 59-61
Palenqne, ii. 59
Pall Mall Gazette, The, i. 265
Palmer, ii. 34

Panda, King of the Zulus, i. 70, 76
Parcel Post privileges : extension of,
suggested, li. 144, 145, 149
Paris, reminiscences of, i. 43
Paulet, Lady, i. 37, 38
Payn, James, i. 210, 211, 216
Pearson, Mr. Arthur, ii. 134, 137
Peasants’ War, the, i. i
Peile, Dr., Christ’s College, Cam-
bridge, ii. 34
Pepi II, i. 254
Pepys, Samuel, i. xviii
Pharaoh Meneptah, the, ii. 230-231
Philadelphia, ii. 176
Philip le Bel and Joanna, tomb of,
ii. 159

Phillips, Lieutenant, i. 74
Pinal, ii. 56, 57

Pine, Governor, of Natal, i. 48
Plunkett, Sir Horace, ii. 180, 224
Plymouth Brethren, the, i. 36
Polygamy, native practice of, i. 63-65
Poof, The, and the Land, ii. 195
Prayer, ii. 244-246, 249
Pretoria : Boer march on, i. 1 30-131
Pretoria Horse, the, i, 126, 131, 132,
140 ; H. R. H. and the forgotten
word of command, 132
Price, Mr. (afterwards Sir R. J.),
ii. Ill

Prince Imperial killed, i. 145, 171
Prince of Wales, the (afterwards King
Edward VII), ii. 2
Property ownership, ii. 231-232
Protection, views on, ii. 107, 108, 112,
113, 142

Purgatory, ii. 245

Pyramids, the : Mr. Brownrigg’s
dangerous escapade, i. 261-263

Quatermain (farmer), i. 8
Quatermain, Allan. See under Allan
Queen, The ; newspaper, ii. 1391 I54
Queretaro, ii. 58

283.

Rameses II, i. 260
Raven, Dr., i. 252
Red Eve, ii. 207; dedication, ii. 225
Redemption, ii. 25S
Redistribution of Seats, ii. 192
Regeneration, ii. 180, 216, 218, 219
Reincarnation, i. 254-255 ; ii. 241-
242, 251

Renunciation. See Way of the Spirit,
The

Repentance, ii. 257
Resurrection, the, of Jesus Christ, ii.
241, 244

Reynolds, Sir Joshua, i. 164
Rhine trip, i. ii, 36
Rhodes, Cecil, ii. 115-119, 123 ;

appreciation of, 117-118; his
Privy Councillorship, 119
Rhodes Trustees, the, ii. 173, 175, 198
Rhodesia, i. 242 ; ii. 117, 118, 127,
199 ; Burnham’s discovery of
buried treasure in, 127-8
Richmond, Sir William, ii. 78
Roberts, Lord, ii. 124, 127
Robinson, Sir Hercules, i. 189, 190,
192, 193, 207

Roman Church, the, ii. 234, 235-'.^6
Romance-writing, i. 237, 279 ; ii. 89
et seq. ; method of, ii. 92 ; ' grip ’
in, 92 ; imaginative insight, 94
Rooipoint farm, i. 195 ei seq.
Roosevelt, Mr. Kermit, ii. 180
Roosevelt, President, ii. 177 et seq.,
193-194 ; characteristics of, 177,

178 ; Natural Resources Conserva-
tion Act of, 179 ; views of, on
South Africa, 177-178 ; on social
problems, 178 ; article by, on
Haggard’s social work, 180 ; record
of an interview with, in London,

179 ; similarity of views and aims,
179, 184, 185, 187 ; appreciation
of, 1 18, 189 ; mentioned, 191, 200

Letters of, ii. 181, 185
Rose, Professor, ii. 204-205
Rosebery, Lord, ii. 151, 198, 199, 223
Rosmead, Lord, i. 207. See Robin-
son, Sir Hercules

Ross, Mr. A. G., i. 273, 284, 287, 293
Rowntree, Mr. Seebohm, ii. 174
Rural Denmark, i, i ; ii. 220
Rural England, i. xxiv ; ii. 13, 131 et
seq., 139, 140 et seq., 216 ; strange
experiences during journeys, 151-
^53

Rural exodus, the, ii. I33-I34^ 150.;

paper on, 133
Russia, i. 3

Rye House, i. 2 ; plot, i. 2

INDEX

284

Sacraments, the, ii. 236
St. Bernard’s Abbey : Mr. Haggard’s
visit with, his wife to see Brother
Basil, i. 153

St. John’s Maddermarket, Norwich,
i* 3

St. Juan Batista, ii. 61
Salvation Army, the, ii. 176, 180, 194,
195* 196, 202, 236 ; social efforts
and institutions, report on, ii. 216
Salvation Army Labour Colonies,
report on, ii. 173, 190 et seq., 261
Fort Amity, ii. 267
Samuel, Mr. Herbert, ii. 197
Sandringham Ball, i. 203
Saunderson, Dr., i. 32, 33
Savile Club, the, i. 272, 273 ; ii. 24
Sayce, Professor, ii. 34, 35
Scaparelli, Professor, ii. 157
Scoble, Landdrost, i. 169
Scoones’, i. 36, 42, 43, 44
Scott, Sir Walter, ii. 74-75
Scriptures, the, ii. 23S
Secocoeni, Basuto chief : tributary
of Cetewayo, i. 61, 80-81, 84, 85,
87, 88, 8g ; war with the Boers,
% 61, 80

Secocoeni mission, i. 83 et seq, ; plot
to murder the envoys, 84 et seq , ;
the Basuto guides, 89-90, 92
Secocoeni visit, article on, by
H. R. H., i. 112, 136
Secocoeni’ s town, i. 85-86
Sergeaunt, Sir William, i. 116, 202,
222, 223

Seti II, Pharaoh, ii. 231
Seville : the Cathedral, ii. 159
She, i. 175, 245-246, 247 et seq.\ ii.
75, 76, 207 ; the sherd, i, 248, 251-
252 ; illustrations, 248 ; the title,
248 ; central idea in, ii. 93 ; an
acknowledgment of, from Buda
Pesth, i. 253

Sheil, Justin, i. 146, 153-158,

217 ; ii. 74 ; thinks to become a
Trappist monk, i. 147 ; reply to
Haggard’s attempt to dissuade
him, 148-150, 154; death, 159-
160 ; H. R. H.’s reflections on,
the life of, 160-162
Shepstone, Sir Theophilus : brief
biographical account of, i. 68-69 ;
native name for, i. 58 ; natives’
affection for, 69 ; entitled to Zulu
Royal salute, 60 ; K.C.M.G. con-
ferred on, 62 ; special mission to
Transvaal, 62, 73 ; shipwrecked,
73 ; native policy of, 69 ; relations
with the Zulus, 70-71 ; Zulus con-

fer sovereign rights on, 71 ; know-
ledge of Zulu hostility to Boers,
81, 82 ; motive in annexing Trans-
vaal, 71, 81, 82, 104 ; the annexa-
tion, 96 et seq,, passim, 133 ;
ii. 262 ; message to Cetewayo,
i. 104 ; loses a son at Isandhlwana,

i. 120 ; policy justified, 121;
summoned home, 121 ; official
treatment of, i. 122 et seq., 223 ;

ii. 263 ; sympathy with Boers,

i. 133 ; effect of reversal of his
policy, i. 121, 208 ; visit to Mr.
Haggard, i. 222 ; views of, on later
Transvaal policy, ii. 23-24 ; death
of, ii. 24, 121

Characteristics of, i. 69, 98, 133 ;

Sir Bartle Frere’s view of, 133
Friendship for Haggard, i. 62,
69 ; rebuke to Haggard, 70
Letters to Haggard, i. 122, 191,
222 ; ii. 19, 23

Nada the Lily dedicated to, ii. 20
et seq.

Otherwise mentioned, i. 21, 52,
56. 77» S3, 93, 107, 112,

128 n., 134, 135, 140, 167, 172,
175, 204 ; ii. 74
Shepstone, Lady, i. 175
Shive (native chief), i. 75
Shooting, ii. 163, 164
Sibebu (Zulu chief), i. 124
Sifton, Mr., ii. 190, 198
Sikukuni. See Secocoeni
Sin, thoughts on, ii. 245, 246, 253 et
seq.

Skallagrim, ii. 9, 28
Small holdings, ii. 148, 149, 150
Smith, Elder & Co., Messrs., i. 210,
268

Smith and the Pharaohs, ii. 158
Society of Authors, i, 38, 219 ;

ii. 121

Somerville, Professor, ii. 212, 224
Song, The, of the Bow, i. 280. See
World's Desire, The
South Africa, i. 81, 82, 116
South African lecture tour sug-
gestion, ii. 78

Spain, Southern : visit to, ii. 159
Spectator, i. 234 ; ii. 27, 99, loi
Spiritualism, views on, i. 41 ; ii. 237,

250

Stead, W. T., i. 265 ; ii. 32
Stella Fregelius, ii. 99, 250
Stephen (groom), i. 175, 179, 200
Stevenson, Robert Louis : letters of,
to H. R. H., i. 235 et seq, ; on King
Solomon's Mines, i. 235-236 ;

INDEX

ii, 206 ; a suggestion of collabora-
tion, i. 237 ; on The World's Desire,
ii. 7 ; poem of, on Odysseus, i. 241 ;
ii. S-9 ; letters from Samoa, i. 238-
239 ; on AWfl the Lily, 239 ;
rumoured death of, ii. 15 ; other-
wise mentioned, ii. 47-48, 84
Sir Rider’s appreciation of the
wTitings of R. L. S., i. 220,
237, 241

Treasure Island, i. 220, 227, 232,

237

Stevenson, Mr. (cousin of R. L, S.),
i. 273

Stivens, Dr. Lyne, ii. 84, 204, 208
Stockdale, Mr., ii. 56, 57
Streeter, Mr., i. 2^2
Swasi : Secococni's uncle, i. 85, 87, 89
Swazis, the, i. Sr, 85
Swedenborgianism, ii. 250
Switzerland, i. 35

Tata, Queen, ring of, bequeathed by
Andrew Lang, ii. 82
Tarantulas, ii. 68
Tariff Reform, ii. 107, 108, 142
Telepathy, ii. 166
Thackeray, ii. 84
Thebes : tombs at, i. 259-260
Theosophy, i. 250-251
Thompson, Sir Henry, ii. 27
Tiberias, ii. 61

'Times, 'The, i. 217, 218, 244, 251 ;

ii. 134, 137, 138. 159, 164, 219
Titanic disaster, ii. 97
Tobasco River, the, ii. 60, 61
Tours, residence in, i. 43, 44
Townsend, Meredith, ii. 27-28
Transvaal, views on possibilities of,
i. 102

Transvaal Annexation, the, i. 81, 82,
95 et seq., 103 et seq, ; ii. 262 ;
expense of, i. 125 ; Volksraad
meetings, i. 97 ; Boer unrest after,
III, 112, 127 et seq,, 140, 169
Transvaal : Boer Republic, i. 79-80 ;
regime under, 79-80, 83 ; friction
with native tribes, i. 61, 62 ;
danger of Zulu attack on. So, 81,
104

Transvaal Courts : lawyers of, i. 108
et seq., 114

Transvaal Retrocession, i. 167, 190.
194 ; ii. 262

Transvaal Special Commission : mem-
bers of, i. 74 ; risks of, 96-97» 98
Trappist monks, the, i. 146-147, 161
Treport, i. 9, 11

285

Trollope, Anthony, i. 136-137 ; cited,
ii- 93

Triibner & Co., i. 205, 207
Triibner, Mr., i. 210, 21 1, 218
Tugela, Zulu battle of, i. 70, 76-77,

III

Turin, i. 266

Turtle from Ascension Island, the,
i. 162

Umbelazi (Zulu), i. 70, 76, in
Umslopogaas, i. 74 and 75, 76 ;
ii. 9, 19, 105, 207 ; Lang’s epitaph
on, i. 274

Upper Mexico : desolate aspect of,
ii. 70

Usutu party, the, i. 124

Vera Cruz, ii. 59, 60
Verney Memoirs, The, cited, ii. 152
Victoria, Queen : Jubilee ceremony
at Westminster Abbey, i. 268 ; and
Rhodes’ Privy Councillorship, ii.
119 ; funeral of, ii. 2 14-215
Volksraad, the, i. 97 •

Walsh, i. 147, 152, 155, 157
War : Mr. Haggard’s views on, ii.
15-16

War, attitude to, ii. 105
War between black and white; i. 61,
70, III

War dance, native, 1. 57, 59-61
Ware, i. 2

Watt, Mr. A. P., i. 246, 267, 269 ;

ii' 17

Watt, Messrs. A. P. & Sons, ii. 137
Way of the Spirit, The, ii. loi, 159 ;

dedicated to Mr. Kipling, 159
Weatherley’s Horse, i. 126
Weenen, i. 56

Welsh Church disendownnent, ii. 219
Westminster Abbey burials, ii. 219
White Slave Trade, the, ii. 248
Whiteley’s : Westbourne Grove, i. 6
Wilson, Major : last stand of, on the
Shangani river, ii. 123
Wilson-Fox, Mr., ii. 197, 202
Wilson, Sir Frederick, i. 4
Wingfield, Thomas, ii. 102, 103
Winter Pilgrimage, A, i. 263, 264;
ii. 139

Wireless tele^aphy, 11. 50-51, 240
Wisbech Division : invitation to con-
test, ii. 148
Witch dance, a, i. 56

. 28 ^ INDEX

Witch doctors, i. 56, 57
Witch's Head, The, i, 172, 218 et seq.,
265, 268 ; pirated in America, 219 ;
Mr. Lang’s view of, 227, 22S
Wolseley, Sir Garnet, i. 48, 50, 85,
115, 131, 140, 167, 168, 170, 171,
186, 194

Wood, Brigadier-General, i. 171, 185
Wood, Sir Evelyn, i. 193, 194
Wood Farm (Bradenham), i. 4
Wordsworth, ii. 75
World's Desire, The, i. 229 ; ii. 7, 75,
76, 77 ; written jointly with Lang,

i. 278, 280-283 ; unpublished post-
script by Lang, 280 ; Stevenson’s
poem on, 241 ; ii. 8-9 ; reception
of, by reviewers, ii. 7 ; dedication,

ii. 78

Wright, Captain (Salvation Army),
ii. 217

Wymondham Church, i. 2

Yorhshire Post, ii. 141
Young, Arthur, i. xxiv ; ii. 1 35-1 37 ;
Bradfield Combust, ii. 135 ; little
Bobbin, ii. 135, 136

Zimbabwe, i. 242, 243
Zulu :

Characteristics,!. 52, iii, 172-173;

perceptiveness of gentility, 66-67
Customs : polygamy, i. 64-65 ;

witch-finding, 56-57
Women, i. 64

Zulu War, the, i. no, in, 112, 115,
117, 118 et seq., 131, 140 ; Prince
Imperial killed, 145
Zulus, the : Mr. Haggard attracted
to, i. 152, 255 ; ii. 207 ; Sir Theo-
philus Shepstone’s policy for, i. 69
{see also under Cetewayo)

Printed in England at The Ballantyne Press hy
Spottiswoode, Ballantyne & Co. Ltd.
Colchester, Lotidon <S- Eton

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